My Time. 

My Time. 

There is a time on waking, a special time. A time that holds hope and wonder. A time when magic is still real and fairies flit between dust bunnies floating in the air. A time when dreams are fading out of focus, but still close enough to grasp and hold onto if only for a fleeting moment. 

Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I can hold onto this fleeting reality for what seems like an eternity. Most often it passes in a heartbeat, gone and almost forgotten all too soon. 

Do you know this time? The time between  sleep and awake, when you can hear the world around you while your body still sleeps. Even if you wanted to you couldn’t get up, a glorious weight pins you in place. You are limp, at rest, snuggled in that perfect position only a sleeping soul can find. Dreams are still dancing behind your eyelids, though they appear softer now, and peace is etched upon your face. 

Do you know it? Is it as previous to you as it is to me? Because, you see, in that time I am me. I am not sick. I am not in pain. My joints do not creak and click. I am not exhausted to the point where breathing is a physical effort. My skin and eyes and throat aren’t dry, or if they are I cannot tell. I’m neither too hot not too cold. But mostly, I am me and I am not sick. I am free to ponder hopes and aspirations that are forever out of my reach. To daydream in a state of just enough consciousness that it’s believable. I can be myself. No limitations other than time. 

Then whoosh! It’s gone. The blink of an eye, a deeper breath, the slight snuffle of my son in his cot. The tiniest thing can click my conciousness up a notch and reality comes crashing down upon me like a tonne of bricks and sand. Glass, ice and molten lava. All at once my body is awake, and though not yet able to function it can feel. I can feel the tension in my muscles, a tension that never eases but is thankfully less noticeable in slumber. I can feel the itches an prickles running riot over my skin. I can feel the pain pulsing through every fibre of my being. I can practically hear my nerve endings screaming at me as my joints behave like unruly tea avers, unwilling to stay inline. 

Inevitably I lay there. Trying in vain to drift back to that sweet place, just for a few seconds more. But I am never that lucky. Sleep doesn’t come easy to me. So instead I try to pull myself together. I paste on a smile and face the day, be that functioning or recovering in bed, I face it. But behind my smile, in a tiny part of my brain, I keep that special time. That time where I can be me. And when I can’t quite cope, I look upon it and smile. Because tomorrow, I will have that glamour of peace once more. 

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Thankyou Muhammad. 

This morning I woke up to the very sad news of Muhammad Ali’s passing. 

Ali was one of the worlds greatest boxers, and men, there was. He fought for human rights. He fought for equality. He fought for peace. Then, he had the greatest fight of his life. He fought Parkinson’s. 

As I watched the many videos documenting his life this morning I shed a tear for him. In fact, I shed many. Why?I cannot say I was his biggest fan, though of course I admired his achievements. I live in the UK, I’m too young to have witnessed the legend in his prime. But today I cried for him. Today I felt a closeness with Ali. 

I learned how he was in his prime when his disease reared its ugly head. How it robbed him of being able to box, in many ways of his whole identity. I learned how he’s married his wife and grown his family after already becoming ‘sick’. I saw more of what I already knew, that he didn’t let his illness define him. That he continued to fight it right up until the end. That Ali loved life, and lived it to the highest level he could. In many ways I drew parallels with my own life. 

Thankyou Muhammad Ali. Thankyou for showing me, and I’m sure many others, that though disease can strip us of our health, we control our own dignity. Thankyou for showing this world that people are more than their colour, religion or ability. You saw life from both sides, the invincible boxer and the disabled man. But, you let none of it define you. You was still invincible. You remained, and will forever be the worlds greatest long after disease had cursed you. You never gave up on yourself.  Thankyou for showing me I need to continue to strive to be the greatest I can be too. 

Rest well.