Visiting Our Daddy in a Care Home.
Spending Sundays in a care home according to my kids - “It’s rubbish, there’s nothing to do.” So we’ve had to get creative and we usually go out (god bless everyone who helped raise the money for our mobility vehicle). As a family living with someone profoundly disabled, the implications on life are rife. They’ve ripped through every element of my children’s childhoods, ricocheted through our hearts and we have been forced to rebuild life on a route not many tread. We have had to live life very differently to most and adapt accordingly without succumbing to and losing ourselves to the darker emotions associated with it.
The children have spent every Sunday at a care home visiting their dad for the last 8 years, barely missing a Sunday (plus seeing him in the week too). Their attitude is unbelievable and the grace with which they approach this, the agility they demonstrate emotionally and the acceptance they display has continually inspired and left me watching them staggered in awesome wonder.
As teenagers, they are now more independent and I have not pushed them to visit every Sunday as I recognise that they want (quite normally and naturally) to do other things as well. Most Sundays, out of choice, they still come with me - I truly find this such a sacrificial demonstration of ‘agape’, selfless love Today only Esmie came, and that’s ok - the devotion and dedication they show their dad always - is simply an incredible reflection of their beautiful souls. Well done kids, for all you are and all you do for your dad, and for me.
My teachers, my angels, my raisons d'etre... Thank you.