I'm still amazed that I'm alive.
A year ago at this time I almost died from a lung disease. As you probably know if you've read this blog over the past year, I got a transplant and went through rehabilitation.
And here I am today, turning 53.
And I'm alive.
I'm probably repeating myself about being alive, but it doesn't get old. There's something so fresh about it. It's like being alive is something I actually *have*, it's a possession of mine.
Of all the things I have, it's my most valuable possession. I don't
belittle the other things in my life, but they are ways to
enjoy being alive.
Well, life is not really something that I own -- it's being in the midst of aliveness.
I wish I could express how it really feels. I don't know if I'm doing it justice.
I don't know what's next in my life. But it's not that important to me.
It's like that old phrase, "One day at a time," which never really resonated for me. But now, here I am, alive for another day and taking it as it comes.
I think about the person who gave me their lungs. In some ways, it's not that they gave me lungs, but that they gave me life. They died, and I got to live. They passed on their life to me.
I feel like a torch got passed to me. The torch of life -- this huge, eternal flame.
I'm an organ donor myself, so when I reach the end of my life, I'll pass the torch on to a few other people.
Life never dies.