For a few years, I helped my mother care for my father, who had Alzheimer’s. Anyone who has had to deal with this unfortunate disease, or any long-term ailment for that matter, knows that it is a commitment, and can often be quite difficult if one also has other duties … such as a full-time job. A couple of years before dad was diagnosed, I ended up back in my parents house, finding myself lost in a world I was quickly losing all respect for. I was still trying to figure out what was next when dad started needing care, and for the next few years I had this convenient (and somewhat legitimate) excuse to continue to hide from the growing darkness. But it recent years, as humanity seemed determined to play the lemur, my lost feeling began growing strongly again. Especially since nothing I could do would really effect dad’s decline. I was feeling hopeless about my ability to do much of anything, and also a bit locked into a cage partly of my own design. As dad’s pending mortality grew more apparent, I was forced to face my own future as well.
Then my crazy idea honored me by choosing me as its vessel. It took me a few days to come up with some sort of method of attack. Literally minutes after I started this blog and posted the first post, my dad passed. As might be imagined, that kind of put my attempt at planting a new seed on hold for a while. I am bringing this up though because to me it was almost like a blessing from my dad. As if he decided it was his time to move on, and he knew on some level that I now had a path to follow, a path that could have wide-reaching effects, but at least would fill MY sense of purpose again. His passing freed himself from more suffering, my mother to move on with her life, and me to tilt at windmills.
Now that we have given dad a proper memorial and a good send off, I can once again start on my new project. It is my way of healing.
And hopefully a little bit of the world.
And once agin I seem to be slightly in tune with the universe. A Facebook friend of mine shared the following picture: