Personal Journey

The Man with No Legs…My Dad.

The Man with No Legs...My Dad.

Sometimes its the most unfortunate that are the most generous. I don’t know…perhaps there are many things to be said and interpreted about and from this image. It really hits home, hard because of my dad. My father has no legs as I have mentioned in previous posts. He is permanently confined to the bed, and every time I go to see him, my heart breaks as each visit there is less and less of him as he is slowly fading away both physically and mentally. Back when my dad could get out, he would always take my family out to eat or cook, and pushed people to eat which not everyone enjoyed, hehe…but he was so giving then and even now. He’ll ask you if you are hungry yourself when he gets a meal plate at the nursing home where he is being cared for. I am nearly in tears.
So many memories of special days. Bulimia, Bipolar, pain, hurt, and anxieties aside, all that matters is love. Recovery is love. Self-love, and more. Dad is proud of me for how far I’ve come. It hurts though that he always said before he lost his legs that he and I would go to eat at the I Hop (his most favorite restaurant) to celebrate me graduating from college with a B.A. concentrated in psychology. Despite my not completing that task, and that meal never being had, I..just forget where I was going with that thought.
I could be negative and say that my daddy has no quality of life…but he is still with us for a reason. All things connected in God. No coincidences in my world. If my religion offends you, I am not trying to, I am just so faith-oriented. It keeps me sane.
Dad still has a sense of humor on his good days and makes us laugh, and I just smile, ear to ear…dimples that he passed down to me deep and all. Though I think I look mostly like my mother, I have my father’s lips, dimples, and some mannerisms.
(This image was in my Facebook News Feed…not sure of the source, but I am not taking credit nor am I affiliated with its creation in anyway.)
I know that there are millions of others in the world who suffer with issues like my dad, and my heart goes out to every one of them, and their loved ones or families. Everyone alive has some sort of major issue. Its a fact. “Normalism” is myth, and you don’t have to be a psych major or psychologist to figure that out.