I just took my glasses off and scrubbed them with the hem of my shirt. Big deal, right?
Well, yeah; it is kind of a big deal. Effie can’t do that. She can’t even put on her glasses. Off the top of my head, I can’t come up with a single thing Effie can do.
We take for granted the gifts we have, not the least of which are a functioning mind, organs, bones, and muscles. –See that? Without even thinking about it, I just clicked the mouse. (I took my hands off the keyboard to insert the word organs.)
Can you drive? Effie never did. She took the bus or got a ride to the grocery store—every week for over 80 years. Can you sweep? vacuum? do the laundry? When we moved her in with us four years ago, we discovered a large pile of plastic bags of dirty laundry. She had not told us that—for quite some time—she’d been dropping one polyester outfit into that corner each week, and hand-washing her skivvies.
Can you balance a checkbook? Effie did that until she was 80, but I dare say I’d have taken that over years ago if it weren’t for the fact that there are only four debits from her account per month. (Not kidding: a good lesson, folks, in keeping things simple! ….And I guess it doesn’t hurt not to drive…)
Can you dial a telephone? She can’t even answer one. Can you cook? Anything? She can’t.
Can you use a toilet? Nope, not for the last nine months. COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS, PEOPLE!!!
She can’t take her own pills, dress herself, bathe herself, or feed herself.
She can’t understand any language on the planet.
She can’t walk.
She can’t talk.
And she knows it.
What can you do?
Can you get on your knees?
Now would be good.