Every Breath You Take

Six weeks ago, I came down with an upper respiratory illness—acute bronchitis. The coughing was uncontrollable, rib breaking powerful. My lungs felt like they were going to explode, and I had to challenge myself to get air. I lost my sense of smell and taste and dropped eight pounds from my already lean body.

      I have always been an athlete, and I work out daily. A few months ago, I was bragging to my husband, Rick, that “I have never felt stronger in my life,” and at 74 that is quite an acccomplishment.

      But in an instant, this respiratory virus clawed at my lungs, threw me to the ground and placed its fiery knee on my throat. I developed laryngospasms which cut off the air to my lungs. These episodes often lasted five minutes, during which time I almost became a “believer” and begged any big fella in the sky to grant me just one more breath.

      One very frosty night in late March after a serious episode of suffocation, I decided to quietly go outside and walk to the top of the meadow, lie down and let the freezing air consume my bodily warmth and save me from this suffering. I had had it, and I determined a life without breath was not worth living.

      I put on my jacket and my waterproof boots and walked to the top of the meadow, coughing and sputtering and sucking wind. Feeling old and decrepit, I sank into a wobbly plastic chair and looked down over the meadow that was cast in the light of the full “worm” moon.

      Our home was dark, but I could feel her breathing.  I looked up the hill at my daughter’s house and knew that she and my grandchildren were safe, sound and asleep. I thought about the 50 years that I lived on the meadow, raising my children and grandchildren, and holding together my 54-year marriage, and how I pulled off an illustrious 40-year career developing the Burlington Waterfront.

      I was blessed with a loving and worthy life, but I could not breathe. Without breath there is no life. I thought about the people I knew who struggled through hardships and who faced them with grace and courage. Friends like John who lives with chronic pain, Holly who survived a five-year painful battle against cancer, Maureen who was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s but always had a smile on her face and a bright disposition.

      I focused on my grandson Rowan who has autism and cannot speak. I am in awe of Rowan’s courage and resolve to live a happy and meaningful life as a poet writing on his iPad.  He embraces his speechless fate and keeps moving forward, never complaining or feeling sorry for himself. I thought about all the people in my life who have faced far more serious life challenges than mine.

      In an instant, a huge frosty wind picked up, and by now my hands had turned numb and I was getting sleepy. I could feel the rays of the moon touching my face and, in that moment, I coughed and coughed and coughed and I hocked up a huge loogie that flew out of my mouth. I sucked in a massive amount of cold, crisp clean air and for the first time in weeks I had a fabulous deep and powerful breath.

      Dizzily, I rose from the wobbly plastic chair and slowly walked back down the meadow and crawled into bed next to my very warm husband. He reached over and took my hand and said “honey, you are so cold, where have you been?”

      And I replied, “I had to go and find my breath, but I am home now.”