05/01/2026
My father passed away in early March after a long and arduous struggle with dementia and Alzheimer's. As the Alzheimer's got worse, he grew more despondent about things he had done, things he had said over his lifetime. He thought he didn't deserve love because he'd been bad, he'd made poor choices or hurt people. He thought there was something wrong with him, intrinsically wrong with him.
I know the struggle. I too have lived the majority of my life feeling this way. Feeling that something was wrong with me and that I didn't deserve love. I think my grandparents felt this too. And I wonder about my brother and his kids. Did they inherit this as well?
And that's what it is, an inherited narrative, reinforced by mind that seeks confirmation. Now, I know that my father is deserving of love. And his parents, and my brother, and his children. All deserving of love. I'm deserving of love.
My father was unable to let go of this belief in his unworthiness. He worked on it, and he was unable to get all of it out. And I refuse to carry this narrative any longer. I refuse to pass it on, consciously or unconsciously. I refuse to let it define who I am. Because I know that that's what my father would want for me. That's what he would want for my family. That's what he would want for all of us. To know with every cell of our being that we are deserving of love. And there is nothing so bad we could ever do that would negate the simple fact that we are worthy and deserving of love.
