Finding the Stride

T T T

Finding the Stride

By: Dasmeer

1977, I strode down the mountain trail with conviction not

once faltering. Having just heard of Elvis’s death, I

was saddened, thinking of the eventually of it all. I was

proud of my legs, short, muscular, strong. They had always

carried me well.

1987, I followed the basketball with alacrity, a little

backyard fun with my now grown kids. At forty-one those mighty

oaks upon which I still stood were no less strong. I smiled

secretly.

1997, packing the last of my treasures, so many boxes, a

new life to go to, a new city, lots of stairs. I didn’t

stop. I knew the stride and rhythm of my legs would continue

to carry me up, up and away.

2008, The heart attack was sneaky, sweating, hot, cold,

terribly weak. I laid in the bed and recollected the span

within spans that go into a life, and worried. Being helped up

first to a sitting position, then, standing, my legs shook

but held.  Thank God they were trying.

2011, I watched my body and soul separate, the three

specters waiting patiently, my legs moving restlessly, wanting

to go, looking for their stride. No, no you are my rocks, my

lifeline, don’t fail me now. But alas sometimes reality

outshines our feelings and finding your strides means the

enjoyment of a fall day, cane in hand, a slower more

purposeful step, but just as much joy.

Will

I enjoyed reading this. Although it is short, it has an epic feel. We can feel the years, the changes. And it feels very personal, and believable.