May 20th, 2008
Living With Amputated Legs
My Dad lost both his legs in the second world war. He was fighting in Italy, near Messina, when him and two friends stood on an anti-personnel mine. My Dad had one leg off at the knee, and the other one above the knee, about mid-thigh. He had shrapnel embedded in his hands and arms for his whole life.
A couple of days later, in hospital, my Dad realised that he had a decision to make: he either had to decide to make the best of what life had given him, or he could decide to feel sorry for himself and the unfairness of life and become a miserable person. He decided to make the best of his life.