I am grateful for hot showers. And toilet paper.
All else starts to blend into shades of endurance.
I have no goals for the future. And yet am driven by a lifetime of accomplishments.
I had accomplished all my youthful goals by the age of 36. Six kids, a respected profession, good-looking hubby ... but it was by burning the candle of my existence at both ends. There may not be anymore wick.
As my father sinks into dementia, I mourn the man I might have known.
What good are his accomplishments now? What good the pattern of thinking and life I have inherited?