The past few months, black eyes and all, has been a time of realization. A time of acceptance. There is no doubt that i’m losing my vision and even though I fight and tell myself that it’s not progressing, it is.

One of the scariest things about losing your vision is ambiguity. The uncertainty of what the future holds. What will the world look like and how the hell will I exist in it?

As I rounded off another late night of work running our business, a realization hit:

 

I won’t be able to do things alone…

but I have learned to ask for help. I have learned that I have amazing people in my life that care for me, truly care for me. I will, as I always have, find a way to accomplish whatever tasks come my way and with the help of my interdependent circle, we will find a way.

I won’t be like other Dad’s…

I’ll be better. With my girls I made the decision, a long time before diagnosis, that being a father to my girls was my highest goal and accomplishment. Nothing has changed with the loss of my vision.

Things may take me  longer, have to be done differently but no matter what, we find a way to enjoy life, have fun and capture moments. Even with 10% of my vision remaining, I know that i’m more active, involved and a part of my daughters lives than most Dad’s. Even when they have no reason not to be involved.

I’ll miss seeing my family grow old…

but I’ll be there every step of the way. I’ll be there and feel them. I’ll be the shoulder to lean on and i’ll feel the change of time through their touch, voice and love.

I won’t know what I look like…

but I don’t care. I found my partner in life and she is the only person I care about. I trust her to tell me about coffee stains on my shirts or if I have hairs missed while shaving. I have her and she is all that I’ll ever need.

I won’t see my daughters as adults…

Peyton, at 5 years old now, has changed so much since she was 1. Her face, her body, her features, her smile, her eyes, her hands, her everything has changed so much. I may not be able to see them as adults but i’ll be there, every step of the journey.

I’ll be there to lift them when they feel lost and guide them when they need help, just as they do for me. I’ll know Lyla, turning 1 this next weekend, as who she is now and will always be there to embrace her spirit, energy and beauty. I hope my vision stays long enough to watch her become a little girl.

I won’t see them walk down the aisle as they find their partners in life…

but I’ll be walking them down the aisle with tears of pride that they have found someone that I love as much as their mother.

I don’t know the future…

but does anyone? No matter the “master plan” we may have, nothing in life is certain or consistent. We all adapt and find a new way to accomplish goals, tasks and growth.

I’ll miss the beauty of the outdoors…

but a lack of vision leads to appreciation of different things. Smells, sounds and feels can’t be taken away with this stupid disease.

I’ll require help forever…

but doesn’t everyone in some way or another? I may just need a bit more of it.

I’ll be a “different” father to my daughters friends…

but maybe i’ll be the Dad they love being around and the home that our daughters enjoy spending time at. Maybe my visual loss will bring me closer to the ones in their lives, as it’s done with my relationships today.

I won’t be able to adventure…

but as i’ve learned with my current vision, EVERYTHING is an adventure. Something as simple as getting a beer at a brewery is an adventure when you don’t see well. Tables, chairs, glasses and people make every stop or visit out of the home an epic trip into the unknown.

I will be a burden…

but i’ll be sure to share my appreciation, gratuity and thankfulness for the extra work and effort from my people.

I’ll be blind…

but I have EVERYTHING to live for.

 

Cheers to acceptance. 

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