Blessings to count, and losses to measure

Thanksgiving is a good time to take measure.

As an exercise, this provides a mixed bag for me, because counting my blessings always means examining what's been lost.

So, here goes: I'm putting the positive stuff first, since that sustains me.

I am here. This is foremost for me, preceding all else. And I'm not talking about being in my family room in Nokomis.

I'm talking about that simple act of respiration known as life. And I say that I am here as opposed to being in either of those places defined by our Judeo-Christian heritage as existing after life.

Bear in mind that what I consider life may not be everyone's definition of living.

I use a ventilator to breathe. And I take nourishment through a tube connected to my stomach. I use an electric wheelchair to get around and a computer to speak and write.

Life and health are gifts, perhaps the greatest gifts of all.

Forgiveness. Forgiveness is the best gift we give to each other. It's concrete and real. Not like trust or love, which are also gifts but are not verifiable.

Reason. More than anything, reason separates humans from other creatures. Those without it are monsters and murderers whose thoughts are poisonous.

From reason flows all of humanity's gifts: laughter, science, art, music, communication and the ability to solve problems.

Evolution. How did humanity get to where it is today? Evolution, of course. There are those who would deny what is a scientific fact. Because their religious beliefs puts them at odds with science they seek to make everyone else succumb to their views.

Such thinking flies in the face of one of humanity's grass greatest gift: reason. Fortunately, evolution is an ongoing process.

Faith. Our faith binds us together. Not our religious views, but the faith that something better exists beyond that which we see, hear and touch.

For lack of a better title, I'll call this Stuff I Miss.

For the last 12 years, I've been a prisoner of a disease that has no effective treatment or cure and usually kills within five years of diagnosis. ALS, or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig's disease, robs the body of its muscles by destroying the neurons that connect the muscle tissue to the brain.

Those with it become gradually paralyzed and die from asphyxiation when the diaphragm can no longer pump air into the lungs.

Sounds of silence. Voice and breathing are closely connected. Air is pushed upward from the lungs into the vocal cords, where a series of muscle contractions in the face and tongue produce sound.

Those who lack the ability to perform any of these functions usually can't make noise or speak.

Among the things I miss most are my voice and playing my guitar. Mind you, I didn't have a good singing voice, at least not like my wife or either of my brothers. But I could carry a tune.

With a voice, others can be engaged. You can order pizza, tell a bartender what kind of whiskey to put in a Manhattan, and yell at your kids.

Making gravy. Dad always made the gravy. It always carried the flavor of whatever meat had been roasted or fried, be it turkey, chicken or meatloaf.

Sunday mornings were special, however.

We had to fast to receive communion. And on the Sundays when Dad was home -- his job required travel -- the tradition was for him to make sausage gravy.

Sometimes, I would meet my best friend, Jonnie Nielsen, after Mass and together we would devour an entire loaf of Pepperidge Farm bread made into toast and slathered with gravy.

Of course, there are other things I miss, including yard work and gardening, house work, taking long walks with my wife, running and dancing.

There are so many things I miss that writing about it seems pointless.

I hope you had a nice Thanksgiving.

I did.



Rich Brooks can be reached at rich.brooks@heraldtribune.com
http://www.heraldtribune.com/article...ST09/711240369