I watch her struggle, hiding my impatience as she closes the door behind her. She’s angry.castles I’m tired, it’s been a long day. She had looked forward to the me getting home from the city, hoping for a nice night, some conversation, maybe more. One look at my face was all it took. My expression reflected on hers, I saw the disappointment from the driveway. I’m done, and she knows it. The person who needs me most has to wait.

The once graceful form that flew through life without a thought has deteriorated, one leg is burdened by a brace, the other in constant pain from doing the work of two.

To the outside world it’s just an inconvenience, a limp, some fatigue, but, “she looks so good!” Inside she affords herself the luxury of showing some pain. Never all, but some.

People offer encouragement, never fully understanding. “It could be worse… everybody has some cross to bear… at least you have Michael… you’re lucky to live in a nice home…”

I spend my days carrying people down three flights of filthy stairs that she would crawl down, sweeping the dust from the steps as she went, because they refuse to walk, their belly hurts, or they are too emotional, or their family says they can’t.

If they only knew.

Multiple Sclerosis is an unrelenting disease.

Sleep now, maybe more later. Tomorrow is another day.

“…She drew her wheelchair to the edge of the shore
And to her legs she smiled you wont hurt me no more…” ~
JIMI HENDRIX from Castles Made of Sand