Winning The Battle

I’m having a problem with the definition of winning and losing. My definition seems to be different than everyone else’s. That shouldn’t surprise me. I’m almost always different from the rest of the world.

In this case, I’m talking about being sick. Several prominent people have died recently, and in news reports about their death, it is said they “lost the battle” with whatever illness they had.

I disagree. They may have died, but they didn’t die a loser. Any person that has any prolonged or chronic illness for any length of time doesn’t lose the battle. They win, over and over and over again.

To understand my thinking, you have to understand not being well. For a person who is sick, everyday is a struggle, and there are battles to be won every day.

Getting out of bed is a victory. Getting dressed and moving and eating and bathing is a victory. If you can run an errand or get chores done or do something that is a reasonably normal thing to do that day, you have won the battle.

Fighting pain is a fierce and nasty battle. Not giving in to abusing pain relieving drugs is a battle. Not giving up and just staying in bed is a battle. Getting out and going on and keeping on and keeping up is a battle.

Every single time, every single day that someone who is ill manages to make it, they have won. If they have a terminal illness, every day that they beat the odds, they win again. If they are still breathing, they have won against the monster one more hour.

We all will eventually die. Some of us will die from an illness, and in our obituaries it might read “after a long battle.” That part would be right. It is a battle. But it isn’t one we lost.

We may die, but we fought for each day, and in the fighting we won victories both large and small. When I die, it won’t be because I lost a battle with an illness. The illness may ultimately be responsible for my death, but me nor anyone else who battles is a loser. We won because we fought. Death comes to everyone, but it doesn't defeat.

We refuse to be labeled a loser when we know what a victory every day was. We were sick, yes. We were dying, perhaps. But we were also living, and laughing, and loving. We were finding joy and peace and comfort and happiness. Perhaps we were even giving comfort and peace and joy and happiness to others.

Life has an end that must come. For some, the end is easy and for some it is not. But the battle was fought, and it was not lost.