As I sit here, reflecting on the path I’m walking now, I keep coming back to you. For as long as I can remember, you’ve been the one I looked to for strength and answers. Growing up, I thought you could do anything. You were the one who fixed things, who took every problem or broken thing in our lives and made it right again. In my mind, you were invincible—a force of nature, calm and steady, capable of making anything okay.
I don’t think I ever thanked you for that, and maybe that’s because it’s easy to take such things for granted when we’re young. But now, as I face these new challenges with MS, I think about it constantly. I find myself aching to have that feeling again, that sense that if something is wrong, all I have to do is bring it to you, and you’ll make it better. It’s something I feel deeply, even though I know there are things—like this—that no one can fix.
Sometimes, I wonder how hard this must be for you. I think about the look in your eyes when I first told you about my diagnosis, the way you seemed to be searching for a solution, something you could do to take this weight off my shoulders. But I saw it there, too—the frustration, the helplessness. For once, there was nothing you could do. And I hated that. I hated that something I’m going through is so hard on you, that I’m bringing this burden to you, one that you can’t lift no matter how much you might want to.
I know you must feel helpless sometimes, and I wish you didn’t have to feel that way. I wish I could shield you from the pain of watching me struggle, protect you from the reality of seeing your daughter go through something you can’t take away. You always protected me, kept me safe from so many things. It feels unfair that I can’t do the same for you now.
But even in this, you’re still my rock. Just knowing you’re here, that you’re walking this path with me in whatever way you can, is a comfort I rely on more than I think you realize. You may not be able to fix this, but you’re giving me strength every day. You’re still that steady presence in my life, the one who makes me feel like, somehow, I can get through this. And that feeling—that trust I have in you, that love and unwavering support—is something I cling to.
Sometimes, I wish I could just go back to being that little girl who could crawl into your lap, where the world always felt safe. I miss the simplicity of those moments, the way that being held by you made everything else fade away. There are days when I’d give anything to just sink into that embrace, let you wrap me up like you did when I was small, and pretend, even just for a little while, that everything was okay.
Or maybe we’d do what we used to—grab the horses and just ride. I can still picture us, side by side, riding through open fields or winding trails. I remember the smell of the air, the feeling of freedom, the sense that nothing else mattered. You’d lead the way, and I’d follow, trusting you to know where we were going. I felt invincible on those rides, like as long as we were moving forward, everything would work out. Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine we’re there again, galloping through the fields, leaving everything behind us.
Those memories are a comfort to me, especially now. I hold onto them like little treasures, reminders of a time when things were simpler and I could lean on you completely. Part of me longs to relive that feeling, to let you carry me away from all of this, even if just in spirit. It’s a wish that’s both tender and impossible, but I keep it close to my heart. In those memories, I still find peace, and I still find you—the father who’s always been my strength, my guide, my place to rest.
I want you to know that even if you can’t “fix” this, you’re helping me just by being you. When things get dark, I hold on to memories of you helping me through so many other hard moments, giving me the courage to keep going even when I didn’t know if I could. Those moments are like a lantern in the darkness, a reminder that no matter how uncertain the future feels, I’m not alone.
I hope you know that none of this is your fault, and none of it is your responsibility to fix. I know you’d do it if you could, and that’s enough. And in so many ways, I feel like you are still fixing things for me. You’re here, beside me, sharing my burden even when it’s uncomfortable, and that is a gift I’ll never be able to repay.
Thank you, Dad. For being you, for being strong when I need it most, and for letting me lean on you. You’ve always been the person I look to, the one who reminds me that I’m not alone in this. And no matter what happens, I’ll carry that with me. You’re my rock—my strength—and in ways I can’t fully explain, that is more than enough.
With all my love, always,
Your little girl,
Angie (E.P.)
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