Maybe it is pride that brings me to think or even concern myself with such things.  Do I matter?  Would it matter if I died?  Would there be anyone there who cared enough to speak at my funeral? Would they have anything kind to say? My pride speaks.

The illness that has ravaged my life has left me very isolated. I can’t help but wonder if I make a dent anymore. When I was able to work, I knew I mattered in the small way that a job imprints on the world, my colleagues depended on me. I don’t feel that anymore. And I can’t help but feel a little selfish and prideful for letting this bother me. I know God is teaching me some greater lesson. It would be nice if lessons didn’t hurt so much.

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