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The notes of life

Learning to walk again is hard,and understanbly so,as even planting my feet on the ground,is no longer a priveldge of mine. I must first master that. 3 nurses,1 in back for support, and 1 on each arm in front,finally get me to my feet. I clutch the walker in front of mewith a sense of relief thatI never thought I'd feelat this point in my life.  Standing is a foreign motion. It is surprising how quickly the body can erase19 years of muscle memoryAnd that's just the thing, 1 9  y e a r s. The only time a person should have to learn to walk is when they are a baby,and mommy and daddy are crouched downsmiling, and video the joyous moment, ready to catch them when they inevitably fall. Will someone catch me? Anger and fear cloud my abilityto even think about moving.pity follows along with it. I am fighting a fierce battlebetween mind and body.I long to feel normal, but my body doesn't know how.N o r m al - how difficult a word to define,when your life is so far from it. How have I forgotten what my arms dowhen I take a step?Heel to toe, heel to toe-Have I always walked like this? Swing my arms in opposition to the foot that is forward. I can do that. I did that. 2 steps, that's all I can do for today But tomorrow- tomorrow I would have made it 3,the next day 4, and the next 5. And like the childhood eveningswhen I'd try to count each freckleThat contaminated my fair skin, long are the days where I can count my steps.  In piano They say you shouldn't just memorizethe fingering for the piece,rather you should know what you're playing. Before I relearned to walk,I didn't know what I was doing I didn't know the magical notes I was playing with my feet. I didn't know the beauty of walking,until my accident took away this right. My notes,like the motions of my lifewere memorizedbut not appreciated.  Until now.    

This poem is about: 
Me

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