For the most part I manage to avoid envy of my able-bodied friends. But the thing that does get me a bit, that makes me fleetingly ache, is when they jump in cars, or on trains, and shoot off to visit their children in new homes and new job locations.
Frankly I’d give my right arm – only I couldn’t, could I, because I need it too much – to be able to do that. You want my definition of the ultimate fomo? It’s not being there to see the flat my son and his girlfriend bought late last year, to have helped them move in, paint walls, tackle the neglected garden.
It’s even just the ability to be useful. To be the gofer for
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