IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO START OVER.

It's never too late to climb that mountain, the only thing that is too late is to quit, you can't stop now, you have already had a lot of pains, Linda Carol Apple  in her article wrote this story

It was an unusually busy day for the hospital
staff on the sixth floor. Ten new patients were
admitted and Nurse Susan spent the morning
and afternoon checking them in.
Her friend Sharron, an aide, prepared ten rooms
for the patients and made sure they were
comfortable. After they were finished she
grabbed Sharron and said, “We deserve a break.
Let’s go eat.”
Sitting across from each other in the noisy
cafeteria, Susan noticed Sharron absently wiping
the moisture off the outside of her glass with
her thumbs. Her face reflected a weariness that
came from more than just a busy day.
“You’re pretty quiet. Are you tired, or is
something wrong?” – Susan asked.
Sharron hesitated. However, seeing the sincere
concern in her friend’s face, she confessed, “I
can’t do this the rest of my life, Susan. I have to
find a higher-paying job to provide for my family.
We barely get by. If it weren’t for my parents
keeping my kids, well, we wouldn’t make it.”
Susan noticed the bruises on Sharron’s wrists
peeking out from under her jacket.
“What about your husband?”
“We can’t count on him. He can’t seem to hold a
job. He’s got . . . problems.”
“Sharron, you’re so good with patients, and you
love working here. Why don’t you go to school
and become a nurse? There’s financial help
available, and I’m sure your parents would agree
to keep the kids while you are in class.”
“It’s too late for me, Susan; I’m too old for
school. I’ve always wanted to be a nurse, that’s
why I took this job as an aide; at least I get to
care for patients.”
“How old are you?” – Susan asked.
“Let’s just say I’m thirty-something.”
Susan pointed at the bruises on Sharron’s wrists.
“I’m familiar with ‘problems’ like these. Honey,
it’s never too late to become what you’ve
dreamed of. Let me tell you how I know.”
Susan began sharing a part of her life few knew
about. It was something she normally didn’t talk
about, only when it helped someone else.
“I first married when I was thirteen years old and
in the eighth grade.”
Sharron gasped.
“My husband was twenty-two. I had no idea he
was violently abusive. We were married six years
and I had three sons. One night my husband beat
me so savagely he knocked out all my front
teeth. I grabbed the boys and left.
“At the divorce settlement, the judge gave our
sons to my husband because I was only nineteen
and he felt I couldn’t provide for them. The
shock of him taking my babies left me gasping
for air. To make things worse, my ex took the
boys and moved, cutting all contact I had with
them.
“Just like the judge predicted, I struggled to
make ends meet. I found work as a waitress,
working for tips only. Many days my meals
consisted of milk and crackers. The most
difficult thing was the emptiness in my soul. I
lived in a tiny one-room apartment and the
loneliness would overwhelm me. I longed to play
with my babies and hear them laugh.”
She paused. Even after four decades, the
memory was still painful. Sharron’s eyes filled
with tears as she reached out to comfort Susan.
Now it didn’t matter if the bruises showed.
Susan continued, “I soon discovered that
waitresses with grim faces didn’t get tips, so I
hid behind a smiling mask and pressed on. I
remarried and had a daughter. She became my
reason for living, until she went to college.
“Then I was back where I started, not knowing
what to do with myself – until the day my
mother had surgery. I watched the nurses care
for her and thought: I can do that. The problem
was, I only had an eighth-grade education. Going
back to high school seemed like a huge mountain
to conquer. I decided to take small steps toward
my goal. The first step was to get my GED. My
daughter used to laugh at how our roles
reversed. Now I was burning the midnight oil and
asking her questions.”
Susan paused and looked directly in Sharron’s
eyes. “I received my diploma when I was forty-
six years old.”
Tears streamed down Sharron’s cheeks. Here
was someone offering the key that might unlock
the door in her dark life.
“The next step was to enroll in nursing school.
For two long years I studied, cried and tried to
quit. But my family wouldn’t let me. I remember
calling my daughter and yelling, ‘Do you realize
how many bones are in the human body, and I
have to know them all! I can’t do this, I’m forty-
six years old!’ But I did. Sharron, I can’t tell you
how wonderful it felt when I received my cap and
pin.”
Sharron’s lunch was cold, and the ice had melted
in her tea by the time Susan finished talking.
Reaching across the table and taking Sharron’s
hands, Susan said, “You don’t have to put up
with abuse. Don’t be a victim – take charge. You
will be an excellent nurse. We will climb this
mountain together.”
Sharron wiped her mascara-stained face with her
napkin. “I had no idea you suffered so much
pain. You seem like someone who has always
had it together.”
“I guess I’ve developed an appreciation for the
hardships of my life,” Susan answered. “If I use
them to help others, then I really haven’t lost a
thing. Sharron, promise me that you will go to
school and become a nurse. Then help others by
sharing your experiences.”
Sharron promised. In a few years she became a
registered nurse and worked alongside her friend
until Susan retired. Sharron never forgot her
colleague or the rest of her promise.
Now Sharron sits across the table taking the
hands of those who are bruised in body and soul,
telling them, “It’s never too late. We will climb
this mountain together.”
I don't know how bad you think your life is, but I'm telling you that it's never too late to start over.
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