A Look Back

As I started this book, I described a lost boy who was lonely, depressed, and always feeling sorry for himself. Then, to top it off, I was able to feel this way with 20/20 vision. The fact of the matter is, even though we did not have the money others had, our family had so much love and the safety of stability with each other.

I now find myself desperately missing those wonderful days that I so took for granted. With all the family love for each other, the beautiful nature, watching the polliwogs grow into frogs in all different stages, and having lived in a junkyard that I used like an amusement park.

I took it all for granted. I look back, and I thank God that I was once a fully sighted person. For I have had all three stages with the use of my physical eyes: fully sighted, the transition of going blind, and then total blindness.

I can honestly say no one can tell me, “You don't know how I feel,” simply because of having experienced every stage in my life. Now, I have precious memories of being able to see so many things that I took for granted, and I can honestly say I miss even the simple things that used to bore me to death.

Long after my recovery started, there was a suggestion to meditate and try to quiet the mind, which I tried from time to time. I followed guided meditation, which took us through the colors of the rainbow, as everyone's eyes closed during the process.

As I was getting used to meditating, my mind started producing these colors, and they were actually more vibrant than I remember them being when I could see. My mind was producing a beautiful, deep, majestic royal purple at the deepest part of the rainbow colors, and I found it so fascinating.

This was actually working the more I did it. One more aspect of what my mind sees, at my right eye only, I will describe as a beach-ball-sized piece of tightly crumpled-up aluminum foil, positioned in front of my point of view. This ball has thousands of lights of different colors continuously projecting out, as if the ball of aluminum foil is unfolding from the inside out.

There are continuous flashes of lights and colors that I am pretty used to now, but if I focus on them, they can be entertaining at times. Meditation music also has a deep effect on me, as it somehow touches my heartstrings.

My favorite is the gentle music with the thunderstorm in it. This particular sound file takes me back to my childhood, when I could see, when there was beautiful nature all around me that I took for granted. Looking through the eyes of my mind, I was viewing in amazement the colorful fall leaves on the floor of the woods on the other side of the pasture.

As I was walking through, I saw the streams of sunbeams shining through the tree branches, illuminating almost all of the different colorful leaves. Then, as I exited the back of the woods through the back meadow, I came to the body of water we called the swamp, at the low part of our property.

I had made a raft with an old house door, with tire tubes tied to the underside to keep it afloat, and I would guide it with a broken branch from the tree. I remember sitting on the raft and looking down through the water. It was about a foot deep, but it was the most crystal-clear water I ever remember. Again, also on this floor, the beautiful, colorful leaves were resting at the bottom, just for me to look at in amazement.

I am writing this because I vividly saw these things in my meditation today. These memory scenes are almost 60 years old, but I really enjoyed them. The beautiful leaves memories are factual, but because of learning meditation, this next one I made up for myself.

I decided to create my peaceful place. At the far end of the junkyard was a black 1960 Chevy sitting there with the hood up. Behind it was another woods with a path in it. I started walking down the path. It was not too far when I came upon a tree close to a running stream.

The trunk of the tree seemed to have a defect at the bottom, almost as if one wide root was sticking up to give me a chair-like place to sit, with the trunk of the tree being the back of the seat. The stream looked beautiful, and I could clearly hear the flow of the steady water running continuously down its path.

Sitting there quietly, gentle wildlife started showing up and even coming up to me, entirely unafraid. A deer came up to me to give me a sniff, but then walked on. On the other side of the stream was a beautiful grassy meadow, with woods behind it. I could look to my right, looking back up the path, to see my dad working on a car with a torch.

Watching my dad work on cars was always peaceful for me. As I looked back toward the meadow, the 23rd Psalm came to me, dictating from my heart to my head.

As I was leaving My Dad’s place on March 8, 1979, he called out my name before I closed the door. I said, “What?” My Dad said to me, “I love you, Danny.” As I closed the door, I said, “Yeah.” My Dad died during that night.

The next morning, my mother discovered the Holy Bible on the kitchen table, opened up to the 23rd Psalm. I am sure that this was the last thing My Dad read. I will cherish these words, as My Dad was trying to show me the way. For he was a man of action more than words, and I was surprised when he said that he loved me that night.

As I am nearing the end of this expression in this book, a scripture just came to mind to describe what My Dad was expressing to me.

The whole family feels that he knew that it was his last day here on earth alive in this physical body. My Dad was the most loving, influential person ever in my lifetime. He was unconditional love and unconditional acceptance. He was the love and trust that I missed desperately for many years.

I take comfort in knowing where he is now, and I look forward to reuniting with him in heaven when it is my time to go.