Adjusting my Choke

Having Parkinson’s disease is
like driving a badly running car or one without breaks
or like first learning to drive a stick shift’.
My life lurches disjointedly between extremes
on a tight rope between stop and start.
Limbs shaking, flailing,
stiffly fighting grotesque contortions
Or they – don’t take my messages and are immovable.
And so I wait.

Or
I franticly play a catch up game
of time – forever lost.
Knowing that whatever needed to be done -
balancing my budget, paying bills,
cleaning up, honoring promises made to
spend time with friends or family,
or simply staying abreast of a walking partner -

can’t be replaced,
the tape cannot be rewound
hurrying or doing later what I wanted to do 
won’t catch me up, won’t span the gap
won’t give me back what I have lost.

Lost time is that –
simply
lost
And that – is something to grieve about.

But also
There is a specialness - in being reminded
over and over again -

how very precious - is the time that I have
right now – in this moment.