It takes a lot to keep me feeling down.

I’m like Rolly Polly, a toy my kids once had. It was a plastic clown weighted down in the bottom so that when the clown was pushed over it instantly sprang back up again.

I may get pushed over a lot but, like that plastic clown, I spring back quickly.

When I get down I pray for spiritual strength to help me spring back again.

I try to accept what is and try not to spend too much time lamenting what I no longer have.

A long time ago I read a column by Joni Eareckson Tada that continues to influence my thinking. At 17, she became a quadriplegic after a diving accident. Of course the teenager was devastated, but like the Rolly Polly clown, she didn’t stay down for long.

She went on to become a talented author and songwriter.

To me, the most remarkable thing about her has always been her irrepressible spirit.

Although she’s been hit with one tragedy after the other, she glows with the joy of life.

In one of her writings she says that while her world has been limited, she can still glory in the view from her window. There is always something incredible to see. Whether it’s a butterfly or a beautiful flower, it fills her with joy.

I was so moved by that and made a vow that if my world was reduced I would still glory in what I could see and do, not what I could not.

Little by little, age does place limits on what we can do. But there is always something glorious in what we can still see and do. All it takes is cultivating a keen sense of appreciation.

The older I grow, the more my appreciation and thankfulness grow.

It’s that thankfulness that serves as a buoy that keeps me afloat.

Yet, the past two weeks I’ve been unable to regain my joy. Truth be told, I’m being weighted down by concern for a friend who is as close to me as a brother. He the son of one of my long-term best friends. Both Kay and I have a small family but we have enlarged what we regard as family by adopting each other’s family.

Kay’s son Christopher is like the son I never had. He’s there to help with whatever problem I’m having. He certainly gives me a sense of security.

But a week ago, after his mother insisted he see a doctor about the lump on his neck, we were crushed by the doctor’s diagnosis. After a series of tests the doctor called to say the news is bad. Very bad. He said tests show he has liver cancer as well as lymph node involvement.

It sounded like he didn’t have much hope. While I’m storming heaven and pleading with the greatest physician of all to heal Chris, I can’t shake the gloom and heaviness that is weighing on me. My personal Rolly Polly struggles to get back up.

I learned it’s much harder to cope with the difficult situation of a loved one than it is with my own difficulties.

I just read a column by two doctors talking about building emotional strength.

I realized I have to recapture the strong emotional strength that has always been a part of my life. I’m digging deep into my faith while I keep encouraging Chris to hang onto hope.

We finally got that hope when the oncologist said he doesn’t believe it is liver cancer. He’s having Chris undergo a biopsy and more tests. We don’t know what the outcome will be, but we are hopeful.

I told Chris about the time a doctor outright told us there was no hope for my husband’s cancer. They were stopping treatment and would only keep him comfortable with drugs until he passed on, the doctor said.

When we took Andy to Foxchase Cancer Center for another opinion, we were overjoyed to learn of a treatment that would probably grant him three years or more.

Andy lived for another glorious 12½ years. He was able to there for the marriages of his two daughters and was able to baptize his three grandchildren.

Thinking about all that helped restore the emotional strength I had lost. Filled with faith and hope, we are helping Christopher get through these traumatic weeks.

In his newspaper column, Dr. Michael Roizen says we can rebuild our emotional strength by cultivating what he calls “a posse and a purpose.”

The posse, of course, is family and true friends that will be there for us.

When we are down, others can be instrumental in giving us strength.

Four decades ago when I was diagnosed with a brain tumor, I had to go to my boss at the Times News to tell him he would probably have to replace me. The surgeon said I only had a 50 percent chance of coming through well enough to return to work.

I’ll never forget Fred’s reaction.

“Don’t you dare say you ‘only’ have a 50 percent chance making it. Change that to you have 100 percent chance of doing well,” he said.

It was what I needed to hear.

When we’re lucky, we have our posse to help us through the difficult times of life.

Contact Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net.