“Are you done now?”
This is the question that is thrust at me almost every time I am out and about. A question I’m never quite sure how to answer, because I don’t want to just mercilessly throw back what’s on the tip of my tongue.
“I’m never going to be done.”
Even if I live for 50 more years, I will always be tested and watched and poked and prodded. I am always going to carry the emotional burden of grief, of unfulfilled dreams, of pain and fear. There will be nights when I can’t sleep, days (like today) when my body is weak, and I will struggle with pain that is like the ocean. It comes in waves and it is wider than we can grasp, deeper than we can fathom, and it is always there.






