Even Though it Isn't Just About Me.

Yesterday i got mad. I got mad at this disease, I got mad at my father and I just got mad in general. I was mad that this disease had taken my father from me, the man I loved, admired and laughed with my entire life. The man that i dreamed would walk me down the aisle on my wedding day, would tease my children like he had teased me, would give my husband a hard time, and would have philosophical discussions with me until he was in his 80's. This man was gone before i knew he was even slipping away. This disease had robbed me of all these future dreams and thoughts, and it made me unbearably hurt and angry.
Then for no other reason than I had no other person to aim my anger at, I got mad at my father for "cursing" our family with this disease. For making me wonder daily if the reason the doctors cannot control my seizures is because they are not seizures but small strokes. If I have been having strokes since I was in my late teens, just as my father had and just have yet to be diagnosed. I felt anger that he had "given" me and my brother the chance at this disease and taken away my choice at having my own children (i will not pass this on). I will never get to hold my own baby, see my own traits and family traits reflected in my own child, or the traits of my husband. This made me unbearably sad and angry yesterday. I wept for my father who is so confused now days, I cried for the future we have lost together, but I finally cried for myself and what this disease meant and has taken from me.