Do you feel as though there are things you see but also do not see?

Well, I do, and I think we all do. 

Let me explain. 

Every morning it takes me about twelve minutes to walk from the subway station to my workplace and back. And you guessed right, today was no different except I wasn’t myself as I headed back home. I struggled to get by the day because I had headache from the previous day that had refused to return to where it came from. 

As I managed to pull myself together, I suddenly saw it. I saw what I always saw yet never really saw.

It was a sculpture.

A sculpture of a donkey. 

I thought it was interesting that I commute the same route every day but never really noticed it.

I wondered why today was different. So, I stopped and took some steps back to appreciate it. At that moment, I noticed something.

The donkey was sad. It was sad because it injured and lost its front legs, which were replaced by a pink cast. It was barely getting by. 

“It must hurt to walk,” I thought 

I wondered if the reason I saw the donkey today was because I could empathize with it. It seemed like we shared the same feelings today.

But why did the sculptor use a pink cast?

Upon a closer look, I found the cast had some writings on them. It was as if people left words to console the sad donkey for losing an integral part of itself. 

At that point, I stopped thinking. I took a photo and continued my journey to the train station.

When I got home, I knew I’d rest before completing my tasks. I took my phone and saw a message. Someone I knew had just lost her mom.  

I was hurt. I suddenly got chills and found myself in 2019 on a day when I fought with my dad. 

After fighting that day, I found out one of my friends lost his dad. It pierced my heart. I felt sorry knowing I took things for granted. I still had Daddy. 

I went to Daddy and apologized. He apologized too. 

I had Daddy then. But not anymore. 

Losing my father felt like I lost my limbs. People’s words and actions soothed me like a cast. I’ve had men who came close, and I see like a father, but none compared to Daddy. 

Daddy was a man of few words.

A wise man. The softest at heart.

The one who laid himself flat on the floor so his kids could stand on his back because he didn’t want our feet to be soiled with dirt.

A man who before waking up, would come knocking on our door to say good morning every single day.

 A man that never failed to call every day even after we all left home.

A man that consistently showed love to us on easy and hard days.

A man with a story so deep with lessons on how grit and resilience lead to success.  

Daddy was a real man. An incredible father and an amazing head and leader of our home. 

Losing my father taught me things I’d never have learned otherwise. It felt as if I lost my limbs. It was hard. It is still hard. But I’ve learned to live with hard.

We have limbs that hold us up. We may even be that limb for others. But the sad reality is, our limbs won’t always be there.

So please, take a moment. Pause. And appreciate your limbs while you still can.

Hold them close, love them deeply and let them know they are the strength you’re standing on.