We’re all going to die eventually. Some of us, especially those of us with bipolar and depression, think about that in more immediate terms than “normal” people. I know I have stated here before that I didn’t want to live anymore, or that I wanted to die at age 60, or at least before I become old and feeble. I have said that I don’t want to live beyond the point where I can’t function on my own. I have felt like nothing I do matters, and that people around me would be fine if I were gone.
However, despite having said those things, sometimes I read something or see something that makes me remember that life is worth living, and that everything we do affects others in a profound way. Gabriel wrote a beautiful post about his grandpa passing, and what a great person he was and how he affected those around him.
I never had a father figure in my life, except for a short period when my adopted grandpa was alive and I was very young. I never got to see his strength, his character, his integrity. I learned about what kind of person he was from my a-mom, but I never had the chance to experience his influence in my own life. I needed someone to show me a good example, but instead there was simply a void that has never been filled.
I was deeply moved by Gabriel’s words. The way he described his relationship with his grandpa makes me realize that although I never had that kind of person in my life, nothing is stopping me from being that person for my kids and grandkids.
When the bipolar gets me down and it feels like nothing matters, I hope I can look back on this and remember that I do care about living.