Squeezing the Last Drop from End of the Toothpaste

I imagine most people love starting a new tube of toothpaste – or a fresh notebook. There’s something about that feeling of freshness, of endless possibility. The middle? Well, that’s pretty ordinary, routine, and run-of-the-mill – it does what it’s meant to do and serves its purpose. But it’s toward the end is when things start to get interesting.

For me, anyway, there’s always that initial temptation to throw out the old and start fresh. But as time goes on, it becomes a little battle – a challenge to see how long I can keep squeezing, how much more I can get out of it.

I don’t want to overdo the analogy, but with toothpaste – and with a well-used notebook – there’s a certain nostalgia when it ends. It’s usually after ups and downs: moments when you’re convinced there’s nothing left, and then suddenly, a surge spills out unexpectedly. That’s life, isn’t it? Full of surprises even when you think the tube is empty.

Right now, I feel like that toothpaste tube – in a very real and surreal sense.

As a teenager, I sometimes wondered what life would feel like toward its latter stages. I had all sorts of ideas, but the truth? It doesn’t feel anything like I imagined – at least not for me, not now.

Life isn’t boring. If anything, it’s strangely absurd. It’s not filled with as many chores (I’ve got a “get out of jail” card for many regular tasks), but it is filled with extremes: some sadness (not really anger for me), moments of profound happiness and gratitude as I make the most of the time I have left. And then there’s the quiet – the silence that stretches out in unexpected ways.

I’m awake for long stretches, often alone – sometimes from midnight to 7 a.m. There’s very little I have to do. I’m retired, I can’t do many things, and even reading is hard. Getting around is harder still. These moments can go either way, but the truth is, I find them largely peaceful. In fact, they’ve become creative time for me – time to ponder, think, and imagine. In many ways, this is the most productive period of my life – ironically, absurdly – where the rate of change is unlike anything that came before.

I wouldn’t choose this disease or this route at 50. No one wants to reach the end of the toothpaste early. But from my limited perspective, it’s nothing like I expected. It’s not all darkness. It’s not all despair.

They say attitude is crucial, as is support – and I’m grateful for both. The support of family and friends gets me through the dark times and helps me beyond imagination. Still, it’s down to me to find the willpower and keep trying to see the positive in this life God has gifted me. That, I think, is key.

I’d love to go back to those days in the middle of the toothpaste. I’d try to squeeze every inch from it. But those days were good to me – they gave me the strength and skills to try to handle this end zone. Life isn’t perfect; there are things I’d do differently. But I want to keep squeezing.

I’m writing with intensity because I feel like I’m in that zone – the end of the tube. I truly wish it weren’t so. I had amazing plans for life as a grandparent and beyond. But as they say, “Man plans, and God laughs.” I trust Him. There’s a reason, even if I don’t understand it.

My natural stubbornness – thankfully for once – is helping me keep squeezing. Life is very different now (wheelchair, diet, lack of mobility, rigidity), but it’s still full of life. There’s pain, grief, and sadness – not just for me – but also humour, meaning, love, and blessing.

I woke up with this toothpaste image in my mind – I can’t say why. Like the shower chair yesterday, it’s another absurdity of life. Here I am at 4 a.m., typing a blog comparing my life to a tube of toothpaste. You can laugh or cry. I choose to laugh.