Rick and I recently watched the movie, “Breathe”, a true story about a family’s struggle when one of them is stricken with Polio.
The movie showcases the strength of the human spirit and the love of family so beautifully. We loved it. But what I didn’t love was seeing the fate of people left to live their lives in an “iron lung”. A scene in the movie depicting this–freaked! me! out!
“I would never want to live in an iron lung.” I told Rick on our way home from dinner with friends last night. “I think I’d much rather die.”
He agreed and we moved on, changing the subject to talk about our friends, how good it was to see them and how blessed we are to know them. “Maybe we should get a Razor.” Rick said, reflecting on the love our friends have for off road adventures.
Turning down our street I thought of our home. Our home. Our own little space. I then looked at each neighbors home. Their own little spaces. “If you think about it,” I said, “These homes we live in are like glorified iron lungs.”
Rick laughed but the thought–the thought of entering our own personal box each day, locking ourselves away from others, the world and life–lingered in my mind.
Just before falling asleep Rick asked again, “So should we get a Razor?”
“I don’t know.” I answered. “If we’re going to spend the money we should probably fix up the kitchen first.”
I stopped myself and looked at Rick, “But I guess that would be spending money just to decorate our iron lung.” I said. “We should definitely get a Razor.”
And today…
today I did my writing outside.
I wrote outside and I breathed.
