I’ll Never Be an Astronaut

Close up of an astronaut uniform with black background

I always loved to dream, to think of paths not travelled, to wonder how my life could be different. That has stopped. I’m grieving dreaming or musing about future possibilities. I’ve realized that all my musings aren’t real. The dreams aren’t going to come true. I’m unable to work. I’m past being able to learn new skills. My cognitive impairment has robbed me of that. I’m past the point of being able to do what I dream of. I’ll never be an astronaut.

People don’t understand what having serious physical, mental, and/or emotional illnesses mean. They don’t understand how f***ing hard it is. Chronic pain eating at you all the time. Loss of contact with reality. Depression that overwhelms your soul. A lifetime of pain that wears you down. Lack of understanding from people who claim to be on your side. The comments about “being positive” as if it’s my fault that things are so bad. It’s hard to feel grateful when you’re drowning.

Our health situation dictates our lives. When we’re in remission, we can take a breath. We feel hope. Maybe this feeling will last. Maybe we’re not as bad as we fear. But then things shift, and we’re back in the abyss. The hope is dashed and we focus again on surviving instead of living.

There are no treatments for me. Yes, God COULD miraculously heal me, but He hasn’t shown any signs of it yet. I’m getting worse. I’ve stopped life extending care. I’m limiting doctor visits. I bought a medical alert bracelet that has “Do Not Resuscitate” on it.

I’m not throwing in the towel completely. I can still write. I can still speak. I’ll never be “great”, but I do it because I love it. It gives me an outlet. It allows me to make a difference in my own small way. I hope to open the eyes of those who don’t understand what it’s like to cope with the disappointment we deal with every day. To face a life you didn’t choose and never thought you’d have. And to encourage those that do understand because they face it every day. We’re not alone even when it feels like it.

I try to fill my days with meaning. I spend time with friends and family when I can. I Facetime my grandson. But the abyss is widening. I don’t know how long I have before I’m done. I just know I’ll never be an astronaut.

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Photo by Alexey Sabulevskiy on Unsplash