Saved.One.by.Grace
New member
Most of you all know I was brought up in the Roman Catholic faith. One of my earliest memories is kneeling in my parents living room and praying one of several litanies for my father who spent years in and out of the hospital from a broken leg suffered at work. His first doctor suffered a nervous breakdown of sorts and was institutionalized. His second doctor died from some unknown disease. It wasn't until his third doctor came along that any progress was made with his broken leg. They took a bone from his good leg and put it in his bad leg. I don't remember seeing my father much unless it was in the hospital or he was wearing a cast my first five years of life.
For those not of the Catholic faith, litanies are repetitive prayers and answers, usually one sentence at a time. It's sorta like the rosary in that respect.
It was during this time that my sister took ill. (My sister was a princess in my father's eyes as evident by the number of photos he took of her compared to me). She came down with rheumatic fever and has the heart murmur to confirm the fact. Because she missed so much time from school, she was going to be held back a year. So instead, we moved to another parish. This was the last time she was sick, essentially, besides colds and stuff. I was about 5 at this time, my sister 9. I had my first communion and first confession before we moved.
By this time my father was out of the hospital and instead of being a loading dock foreman, he was now a salesman. One of his legs was now 1.5 inches shorter than the other.
This will all make sense, or maybe it won't as I proceed. I don't know if I have everything figured out or not.
For those not of the Catholic faith, litanies are repetitive prayers and answers, usually one sentence at a time. It's sorta like the rosary in that respect.
It was during this time that my sister took ill. (My sister was a princess in my father's eyes as evident by the number of photos he took of her compared to me). She came down with rheumatic fever and has the heart murmur to confirm the fact. Because she missed so much time from school, she was going to be held back a year. So instead, we moved to another parish. This was the last time she was sick, essentially, besides colds and stuff. I was about 5 at this time, my sister 9. I had my first communion and first confession before we moved.
By this time my father was out of the hospital and instead of being a loading dock foreman, he was now a salesman. One of his legs was now 1.5 inches shorter than the other.
This will all make sense, or maybe it won't as I proceed. I don't know if I have everything figured out or not.