The digital clock on my nightstand showed 6:30 AM, signaling another exhausting morning.
I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress and paused.
My lower back felt like solid concrete a rusted iron hinge frozen after decades of wear.
I had to place both palms firmly on my knees and spend five agonizing minutes slowly "unfolding" my torso before taking my first step toward the bathroom.
I could live with the morning stiffness.
What broke my heart was what happened three weeks earlier.
My 3-year-old granddaughter ran across the living room with her arms wide open, shouting: "Grandpa, pick me up!"
I reached down to scoop her up.
Before my hands even cleared her waist, a sharp, white-hot spasm tore across my lower lumbar spine.
My breath caught in my throat. I froze mid-bend, gripped the edge of the dining table with white knuckles, and winced.
"Grandpa can't carry you today," I whispered.
She dropped her arms and backed away, confused and disappointed.
I had to look away so she would not see the tears welling in my eyes. I spent 40 years working long hours to build a comfortable retirement, only to find myself relegated to a spectator in my own home.