Joy & Pain = Time & Distance 
What separates us? Is it joy and pain? Consider time and distance. From afar, this situation may reek of pain. Those that love you so closely want to provide an emotional healing blanket. Now from my lens, I am able to absorb the meaning of joy. Imagine being so close that your physical presence defines truth. New lungs are just around the corner. 

I can smell it when I sit outside in the morning and the Linden trees show off with their pungent aromas. The cycle is too abbreviated but so are our lives in a cosmic sense. My mind was trained of the unique smell and recognizes when the calendar of life says ” I’m back.” I can see it as the cardinals battle out on endless playground of trees. Funny how they choose the ones still weighted in dew as to amp up the challenge. Funny how when the dancing is done the old and young share the same landing just inches apart, a moment to toast and roast one another. And I can hear it. Despite all the lovely sounds of life, from dogs walking by or birds belting their undeciphered notes or joggers conversing in something so meaningless yet meaningful, the peace is drowned out. The reckless cars that bring on the responsive sirens, residents bicycling in a scurry half shouting ” On your right!” or the life flight crew overhead who bounce around as if they are stuck inside a pinball machine. These are the sounds of death. Like the Linden tree, everything is cycled. 

Each day I wake to square off. At times it is a burning stare, a “whose knees will buckle first” kind of moment. Other days it is me with a mighty smile knowing ” Today is my day. I’m in charge today!’ But more times than not I’m awakened by the coughing so branded in my routine that I would turn to look even from the other end of this earth, a beeping machine telling me “Tag you’re it…” or an alarm serving as a reminder to feed the disease with another iv, staking my flag to say “you can’t beat me.” Another night is scarified and rest is incomplete but in the books I somehow score it as a victory or least a push. I am not CF. CF is not me. Trying saying that three times in front of a mirror. 

How do they do it? Grasped in a headlock, I sleep with one eye open just to try and be on point for this disease thing. A shared ownership indeed, me, Anna, Will, etc….CF.

But they rest. They say “not right now” or ” please leave a message and we will get back to you”  They have that power. Their headlocks are different. I can see them but never truly feel them. It’s the joy&pain=time&distance scenario. Different from every perspective. A lifelong Indian run alongside CF.