What singing taught me about life with MS
It is hard to explain the following depth of reality. One morning shortly after my diagnosis, I woke up and thought, “From now on, I will wake up sick every day, and I need to accept that I will never get better again - unless a cure is found.” That level of new normals isn’t easy. Then again, finding something black to wear while standing in front of a wardrobe filled with black clothes only, isn’t either. The same goes for the many pairs of black shoes, black rings, and necklaces.
The Harp That Once Through Tara’s Halls
The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory’s thrill is o’er, And hearts that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more! No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells; The chord alone that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives. (poem by Irish poet Thomas Moore 1779-1852) (for more info: http://www.knowth.com/tara.htm) © Willeke Van Eeckhoutte and Ireland, Multiple Sclerosis & Me, 2011-2012.
