EVERY TIME I FALL


Every time I fall,
I’m shocked and offended.
It’s slow-motion sometimes,
Watching the floor come up to meet me,
Giving me a long, agonizing moment
To consider what I should or shouldn’t have done:
Should have used my walker.
Should have turned on the light.
Should not have put those sandals on.
Should not have hurried.
Should not have forgotten I have MS.

Sometimes there’s nothing slow about it.
Who knew I could move so fast,
A warp-speed dive
That was already history
Before I could think “Not again!”

Every time I fall
I lose some ground,
And not just the ground
I gently clean from my bloody knees and elbows.
One small step in the wrong place,
One giant backward slide into shark-infested waters.
Like the new math that’s old now
(Like me)
I add the deficit
To what is ironically called the “balance”.
In the arithmetic of falling,
More is always less of everything.

Every time I fall
I pout a little spiritually,
Accuse God of not paying attention.
“You could have caught me,” I grumble,
“Why didn’t You?”
I know He cares,
But He gives no explanation.

So I sit there, lie there, cry there
Until somebody helps me up,
Or the strength comes
And I do it, somehow, on my own.
I gasp and whew until my breath comes back,
Take stock of damage,
Consider giving up.
When I can, I share my woes
And the empathy is a soothing balm,
The support a sturdy splint for my shattered resolve.

Every time I fall
I get back up.