Playing "If"

If. It's a game I play in my mind. It's a torture I live with every time I think of the future. Whenever I plan something these days, something more than a few months off, I add the conditional of "if". I said it to Katherine this morning. We were talking about coming to Victoria again and I said "if", not "when". If I am well enough; if we can afford it; if I can travel; if I am still alive; all if's, Of course these "if's" apply to most of us. The only difference is that my "if's" have more of a tinge of actual to them, not the possible that applies to so many.

The other 'if" I torture myself is the "if" of a positive future. What would I do "if" they found a cure for ALS? What would I do "if" they found a way to stop the progression? What would I do if I had strong legs again, if I had strong arms again, if I had a future once again?

If my legs were strong once again, if I could walk once again, one of the first things I would do would be to walk over to Katherine's place, walk up here stairs to her living room, walk into her kitchen. If my legs were strong once again, I would walk up the stairs to her bedroom and make love to her, fully, completely.

If my legs were strong again, I would jump in the pool with my grandchildren, catching them as they leap from the edge into my arms. If my legs were strong once again, I would take them for a walk, or for a sail on my sailboat, showing them the wonders of the woods and the beauty of the ocean. If my legs were strong again, I would chase after them in the park, playing tag, throwing a ball, giving them piggy-back rides.

And then there is my arms, should they return to strength. Fishing, camping, even something so simple as picking them up; all these I would do, and more, if my arms were strong once again. If I were whole again, I would go back to work, but only part time. After all, I have a lot of living to do yet. If I were whole, I would continue to adventure, only then it would be to places where I cannot go today.

This game of "if" is a torture, tantalizing me with things I most likely will never do. They might find a cure for ALS on time for me, but it is doubtful. There might be a miracle for me, but they don't happen very often. The real game I have to play is not the torture of if, but the pleasure of now. I don't do "if" that often; mostly I do what I can do when I can do it. If is a dream; now is a reality.