Faith is no longer, nor has been for a very long time, enough to get me through the day. Faith, to me, is an optimistic lie you tell yourself to feel better about something that you desperately need to be true; having faith means you know what you are telling yourself can not be proven. Otherwise, we would not need faith.. we would just know. I realize that faith is a wonderful tool for many people, but I need fact. I need proof. I need a sign that what I am believing is real. My mind identifies faith as a coping mechanism; my mind also needs to deal with life as it is, not what I tell myself it is. My mother tells me that faith grows stronger with age, and I do desperately hope that is true for me. My mind has always questioned what I have been told and sought to find answers that make sense to me. I am not certain that I will ever find the answers that I am looking for, but I will never stop trying.
I would give anything to turn back time and take away the disease that took everything from you; since I am unable to do such a thing, I am simply thankful for the precious time that we spent together and how much I learned about life. Watching you slowly lose all of the things I take for granted taught me a lot about what’s important in life. Even when you lost the ability to speak, eat, or drink, the love for your family was something that couldn’t be taken. Until you had no strength left to move, you always let me know that you love me. The last month of your life that we spent together showed me what I need to do with my life; you showed me my calling. Every one of us has to die, and we should all feel as loved and cared for as you did; we should never have to leave this earth feeling alone or abused. For you, daddy, I’m going to try and help as many old souls and their families as I can; I want to offer words of experience, of compassion, and of hope. Thanks to you, and all that I learned, I know that I can do this.
Imagine an old oak tree whose roots have found their way to the surface, creating a series of very intricate knots that surround the beauty they keep grounded. This tree sits alone in a park that no one seems to visit anymore. Her anxieties and depressed states are the roots in which keep her grounded. Outside, she has hair as bright as the sun, and eyes so deep that it is hard to make yourself look away; the passion she possesses flows from her to you. Everything about her is electric. Like that old tree, she radiates beauty that captivates every soul that crosses her path. Unlike the tree, you can not see the things in which hold her down-those terrible things are hidden away beneath the breathtaking body that she calls home. Throughout her life, those roots of hers keep growing, but in the end, only making her stronger. One day she stumbles across that old tree and can not help but to smile.