I am a Writer

I came to the realization that today is Memorial Day, and that this particular holiday is when we remember the fallen heroes of the US military who never made it home from war. Over the past year, this day has meant something more to me besides the military.

It’s the day that I got sick.

I remember waking up that morning ready to find answers as to why I couldn’t do things that other people my age were doing or if I tried, I wore myself out too easily. I was sick and tired of it all. Everything I had once enjoyed was slowly slipping away from me and it wasn’t because I was losing interest, it was because of some unknown reason that I couldn’t put a finger on. As I sat in the doctor’s office, part of me also wanted to get back to the barbeque and the holiday festivities happening in my backyard at home followed by continual progress on some articles and other writing projects I had going.

I was a writer who couldn’t be slowed down.


Yes, I was a writer. I was a writer who was also unknowingly sick, but on the outward, appeared perfectly healthy. No one saw the list of health problems, nor the bottles and several supplements I was told to take in order to get well. So, as my friends were gathering around the grill, celebrating a holiday of getting together and remembering that there were those of us who never made it home from war, my world was tilted on its axis, knowing only one thing was for certain...

I am a writer.

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