When I was in high school I inherited my mom's old Plymouth Valiant. A 1972 olive car I dubbed The Green Machine. It was a well-constructed steel tank that could withstand just about everything.
Until it died. Or at least stopped starting.
I sat in my driveway, turning the key, listing that that awful grinding noise, waiting for the engine to catch but it didn't.
Turns out I was supposed to have the oil checked on a regular basis and have it refilled when it was running low.
I didn't know.
My poor car was literally running on empty until its last gasp.
Bodies are like that too. Unless we maintain them, Care for them, take care of them, eventually something will go wrong
Yes, I know that even when you take fantastic care of yourself it's no guarantee, but giving your body all the support you can, can only help.
Or so I'd like to believe.
My brother's body is failing right now. It can't be fixed. It'll never be better. At best it'll get to a manageable place where there aren't ER visits and infections and dizziness and a host of other unexpected problems.
It's scaring the shit out of me.
There are no absolutes. No guarantees. No assurances that you'll avoid pain and suffering and illness along with basic wear and tear.
But you can take responsibility as much as possible.
Maybe that's sort of pie in the sky.
But it's helping me get through my day to day.