Today is Memorial Day here in the United States.  I am spending some time writing before I visit my father's grave site in the Delaware Veteran's Memorial Cemetery.  I invite you to honor yourself today by capturing your life's most precious memories on paper.  Writing your life story is a powerful exercise that will lead you directly to your own truth.  What are the most pivotal moments in your personal history? What are the patterns that keep repeating in your life?  What have you learned from these life lessons?  How can you utilize what you learned to help others?  Write your life story and be prepared to uncover your purpose in a powerful way. If you are having trouble writing about your own life, write about the life of someone who has inspired you greatly.  Once you get your creative juices flowing, you will likely find it easy to delve into your own story and truth. Here is an example of a life story that demonstrates a powerful purpose. I wrote this story in honor of my father, John McCabe.

A Hero’s Journey to Purpose
 He sits in a tattered blue reclining chair, his eyes shining with mischief and exhaustion.  His day began promptly at five thirty this morning, just as it has every other morning for the past sixty three years.  From the moment his feet hit the floor they are in perpetual motion, each step dedicated to helping others.  Selflessly, he devotes the majority of his day to assisting other people with their activities of daily living.  No small feat for a survivor of a tragic childhood, five brain tumors, and a tour in Vietnam.  Although he conceals it well, some days it is difficult for him to get out of bed. The tumor in his brain wreaks havoc with his balance and hearing. He is completely deaf in his left ear. Frequently, he stumbles into walls and is plagued with seizures and nausea. His head bears faded torturous scars from the three brain surgeries he has endured. There are tiny blue tattoos sprinkled across his forehead which are souvenirs from two bouts of radiation therapy.  Rarely does he speak of his illness, only if he feels by sharing his story it will benefit another.  The tasks he undertakes may seem mundane to the average person. However, these important gifts he freely bestows upon others are priceless. His list of good deeds is endless and clandestine.   He does not believe in tooting his own horn, but rather quietly performs these tasks with no expectation of gratitude or appreciation. His list of daily contributions to others is infinite.   It includes fixing toilets for widows, mowing  the lawn for the wife of an imprisoned man, teaching new immigrants the idiosyncrasies  of American culture, repairing the broken bicycle of a fatherless child, fixing a strangers flat tire, helping a lost, drunken man find his way home, and tutoring a failing student in chemistry.   On the days when he is too ill to move about, he contributes by lending a listening ear and compassionate words to those in need. He completes all of these activities with an altruistic joy that permeates his whole being.  He takes pride in making someone else’s day and is constantly on the look out of a person in need.
 This joyous saint of a man in this chair is my father. Ironically, twenty years ago my father was convinced his life was without meaning or purpose.  As a well-educated and accomplished genius in the pharmaceutical industry, my father once derived his identity from his career.  Much of his time was spent on business trips and tending to the needs of his company.  After his second brain surgery, my father became too ill to work.  The surgery and subsequent radiation had impaired his short term memory and ability to concentrate and focus. With a heavy heart, he reluctantly resigned his position after being deemed permanently and totally disabled by a panel of medical experts.  The first few years after he stopped working were extremely difficult for him. He sat listlessly in that big blue chair, wondering what the next day would bring.   He had loved being productive but sadly his body and mind were no longer what they used to be.  His liquid brown eyes were full of pain and anguish.   I think some days he was just waiting to die.  Well-meaning friends and family, including myself, would ask him what he was planning to do with his time, as if he were on some sort of extended vacation.   These questions served only to increase his anxiety and depression.  Limited by his medical condition and disability, he lamented why he was on his earth.
I do not recall any single incident that arouse my father from the slumber of his depression and hopelessness.  Rather, it was an insidious series of events that made him clearly see the path of his life’s journey.   Perhaps it began when my father received a teary late night telephone call from a former colleague whose seventeen year old daughter was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Without a moment’s hesitation, my father went to this young girl’s bedside to offer her words of comfort and inspiration but most importantly, truth.  My father became like a man on a beach with a metal detector in pursuit of buried treasures.  Everywhere he went, he sought out to identify a human need and fulfill it.  It seemed as if disadvantaged people were placed directly in front of him by a force of divine intervention. An elderly man standing in the middle of the road bleeding.  A single mother with a dead battery in the parking lot of a convenience store.  My father’s eye once gain became bright pools of light and inspiration.  He discovered something that is available to us all if only we can silence our minds to hear the divine calling.
As his sits in the recliner the pearls of wisdom roll of his tongue.  “I spent a long time wondering why I was here and why I have survived.” He murmurs deliberately “Now I know that I am here to help others on their journey.”   And from his a small offering of words I learn a vast lesson.  Do not spend the majority of your time and energy contemplating your life’s mission and purpose.  Your purpose on earth is more readily discovered when you increase your awareness about what is going on around you and seek to help others.  Put simply, just be, do what it placed in front of you and turn the rest over to God.

Aileen McCabe-Maucher is the author of the book "The Inner Peace Diet" which was published by Penguin Books and released in December 2008. Aileen is a licensed clinical social worker and psychotherapist who has helped many people find inner peace and discover their unique life purpose. She has worked for over fifteen years as a licensed psychotherapist and registered nurse providing individual and group counseling to a diverse client population. Aileen  is currently pursuing a doctorate at the University of Pennsylvania and writing her third book.

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Margaret Fieland said...

Aileen, thanks for the timely post. My father's birthday fell on Memorial Day (May 30th), so I have fond associations around his memory. I still remember some of the stories my father told about what happened to him in World War 2 -- he was a terrific story teller.

Karen Cioffi said...

Aileen, What a wonderful tribute to your father. He sounds like a true hero.

Life is interesting and sad. My father was in WWII and was my 'rock' growing up. Then a heart attack was followed later by Alzheimer's and my sister and I became his rock.

All those who serve in our military should be honored and remembered.

Donna McDine said...


Your writing is powerful and provides a great tribute to your dad! Absolutely lovely and touching.

All the best,

Magdalena Ball said...

Lovely story Aileen, and I agree with you that it's vital to write our life story - in one form or another, since writers are always using the material of their life to craft their work.

Heidiwriter said...

A huge Thank You to your father for his service and his courage! And thank you for sharing him with us today. My dad was a WWII vet and my husband is also a Vietnam vet.

Kathleen Moulton said...

Thank you for sharing such a personal story.


Mary Jo Guglielmo said...

What a beautiful and powerful story about your dad. Thank you for sharing.

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