THE MEMORIAL READING OF TENDER TRUTH

For My Father and Mother — Prostate Cancer, Diabetes, Amputation, and the Enduring Legacy of Love

SDAE—NuSpecies

We gather today to speak the truth gently.

Not to make suffering into doctrine.
Not to pretend pain was fair.
Not to offer easy explanations for a hard reality.

We gather to honor—
to remember—
to bless—
and to hold with tenderness
the lives of my father and my mother.

For they were not perfect.
But they were good.

And goodness matters.

 

1. The Blessing of Their Compassion

My parents were not wealthy,
yet they lived as though generosity was their inheritance.

They fed the hungry.
They helped the sick and elderly.
They welcomed children who came in need.
They ministered not only with words,
but with presence.

They did not turn away from suffering.

They did not look away.

And because they did not look away,
many lives became lighter.

Let it be said plainly:

They carried a faith that bore fruit—
empathy, kindness, charity, and courage.

 

2. The Blessing of My Father’s Suffering (Prostate Cancer)

My father was diagnosed early with prostate cancer.
And though he fought,
though medicine was tried,
though surgery and radiation and chemo were taken,
the disease moved onward.

It became metastatic.
It spread.
It took from him what no man wishes to surrender—
strength, ease, the simple confidence of living without pain.

And soon after, he died.

We do not pretend this was acceptable.
We do not call this a blessing.
We do not say it happened for a reason we can understand.

We only say:

He suffered.
He endured.
He remained human.

And this is not small.

For when the body weakens,
dignity must be protected.

When the future collapses,
meaning must be held carefully.

So we speak with reverence:

My father was not a disease.
He was a man.
He was a father.
He was a soul who carried love.

And even when treatments did not save his life,
they did not remove his worth.

 

3. The Blessing of My Mother’s Suffering (Diabetes and Amputation)

My mother was diagnosed early—in her thirties—with gestational diabetes,
and later diabetes remained,
like a long night that would not lift.

Over time it harmed her body in many ways.
It damaged her eyes.
It damaged her kidneys.
It weakened her strength.

And eventually, both her legs were amputated.

She endured what many would not survive emotionally.
She lived through a kind of grief
that repeats itself every day.

And still, she remained.

She remained a mother.
She remained a giver.
She remained a human being with dignity.

Let it be written with tenderness:

The legs were taken,
but love was not amputated.
The eyes were damaged,
but compassion still saw.
The kidneys weakened,
but the spirit still carried light.

And in time, she died from complications.

We do not deny the cruelty of that road.
We do not pretend it was fair.
We only honor her courage within it.

 

4. A Blessing Against Shame and False Judgement

Let no one speak of them
as though illness was weakness.

Let no one treat them
as though suffering reduced their value.

Let no one measure their lives
by what their bodies could no longer do.

For they were always more than their disease.

They were love.

They were character.

They were compassion.

And the world is better
because they existed.

 

5. The Blessing of My Childhood Witness

I remember myself as a child
sitting beside my mother in worship—
watching the preacher,
seeing the portrait of Christ behind him,
and feeling my mind swell with belief
in something powerful.

That belief became a lifelong search.

And I realize now:

Part of what shaped that search
was watching my parents serve others
even while they suffered.

That is the truest sermon.

Not the words on the pulpit,
but the love in the hands.

 

6. The Blessing of Continuation (NuSpecians and Legacy)

Today, I carry them with me
in every NuSpecian I serve.

When I sit with the sick,
I sit with the echo of my father’s struggle.

When I comfort the suffering,
I remember my mother’s endurance.

When I refuse to look away,
I honor the lineage that raised me.

So NuSpecies is not only work.
It is continuation.

It is compassion made practical.

It is the legacy of two parents
who taught me to see the suffering
and respond with love.

 

7. The Star Blessing (SDAE Reflection)

In SDAE we speak of stars
because stars teach us what life is:

A star shines for a long time,
giving warmth without asking for reward.

And when it grows old,
it does not vanish into nothing.

Its death becomes a giving.
Its elements become life.
Its light continues traveling long after it is gone.

So may it be said of my mother and father:

You shone.
You gave.
You suffered.
You completed your work.

And though you are not here,
your light continues traveling through me.

Through the people I help.
Through the compassion I practice.
Through the dignity I try to protect
in every suffering human being.

 

8. Final Blessing

May my father rest in peace—
not as a man defeated by cancer,
but as a man honored for his humanity.

May my mother rest in peace—
not as a woman defined by illness,
but as a woman crowned with courage.

May their suffering be remembered with tenderness,
and may their compassion be remembered as sacred.

And may I, and all who heard their story,
carry forward this truth:

A life is not measured by its health alone,
but by its love—
and love remains.

Amen in remembrance.
Amen in dignity.
Amen in tenderness.
Amen in the long breath of light.

 

THE MEMORIAL READING FOR NUSPECIANS

How My Parents’ Faith and Suffering Shaped My Mission

 

SDAE—NuSpecies

To my NuSpecians—
to those who have walked through pain,
to those who have searched for answers,
to those who have tried many things and still long for relief—
hear this story, and receive it with tenderness.

For the mission I carry did not begin in business.
It began in lineage.
It began in family.
It began in witnessing suffering—
and witnessing faith that did not collapse under suffering.

This is why I serve you.
This is why I listen to you.
This is why I believe your struggles are sacred
and your dignity must be protected.

 

1. My Parents Lived a Faith That Bore Fruit

My parents were not wealthy,
yet they lived as though generosity was their inheritance.

They fed those in need.
They helped the sick and the elderly.
They welcomed children who arrived at their door without support.
They did not look away from suffering.

Their faith was not a weapon.
It was a shelter.

Their worship did not make them arrogant.
It made them compassionate.

They were ministers not only by title—
but by practice.
By love.
By service.

And I witnessed this as a child:
how deeply faith can produce empathy,
how truly the soul can be moved
to care for others.

 

2. Their Greatest Afflictions Did Not Destroy Their Faith—It Deepened It

Then illness came.

And the mystery of life revealed itself:
that even the most faithful are not spared pain.

My father suffered greatly.
There were moments when the weight of his suffering became unbearable.
And in that agony, he earnestly asked God to take his life
so the suffering would end.

But I want you to understand the sacredness of this:

He did not ask from hatred of God.
He asked from love of God.

It was not rebellion.
It was intimacy.

It was a wounded human speaking honestly
to the One he trusted most.

And this is why I honor him:

Because even when suffering overwhelmed him,
he did not turn cold.
He did not turn cruel.
He did not turn away from God.
He turned toward God with truth.

That is real faith.

 

3. My Mother’s Suffering Was Carried With Quiet Dignity

And my mother—
who suffered long,
who endured repeated losses,
who lived through what many could not imagine—

she never complained once to my ears.

Not once.

Even through the amputations of both her legs.
Even through the slow erosions of the body.
Even through the humiliations that sickness can bring.

She did not speak bitterness.
She did not ask for pity.
She did not curse life.

She said her suffering was the will of God,
and she carried that will
with dignity
and without complaint.

Now whether one agrees with that theology or not,
what cannot be denied is the strength in it:

She did not let suffering destroy her character.
She did not let pain make her cruel.

She remained a mother.
She remained gentle.
She remained dignified.

And I learned from her that the Spirit—
whatever name we give it—
can be expressed as endurance without bitterness.

 

4. What Their Lives Taught Me (And Why NuSpecies Exists)

Their lives taught me a truth
that became the root of my mission:

People must not be abandoned in suffering.
Not emotionally.
Not spiritually.
Not practically.

My parents tried what was available to them.
They trusted the systems.
They sought help.
And yet their suffering still came.

So I learned early in life:

Even the best systems are not perfect.
Even science, which I deeply venerate, is not complete.
Even medicine does not always reach everyone.

That does not make science evil.
It makes science human.

And because I venerate science, I do not attack it.
I respect it.

But I also respect something else:

The reality that countless people are still suffering
even after trying everything they were told would help.

That is where my mission lives.

 

5. NuSpecians: I See My Parents in You

When I sit with NuSpecians,
I see my mother and father.

I see the sick who feel unseen.
I see those in pain who are tired of being dismissed.
I see those who are searching for something that restores dignity and hope.

And I do not believe your suffering is imaginary.
I do not believe your testimonies are lies.
I do not believe your stories are meaningless.

I believe your stories are a kind of data—
not laboratory data,
but human data:
the lived record of what has helped you,
and what has not.

This is why I listen to you one-on-one.

Because my parents taught me to listen.

My grandparents taught me to feed the hungry.
My parents taught me to care for the sick.
And NuSpecians taught me how to build a practice around coherence, dignity, and relief.

So in truth:

NuSpecies was not created only by my ideas.

NuSpecies was created by NuSpecians—
by your success stories,
by your progress,
by your lived experience.

 

6. What SDAE Means in This Context

SDAE is not presented as “proof.”
It is a way of speaking.

It is language that helps people understand:

·       why balance matters

·       why coherence matters

·       why compassion matters

·       why the inner world is real

·       why suffering must be addressed beyond dismissal

SDAE does not replace science.
SDAE stands beside science, with humility.

Because a person can honor medicine
and still admit that some people remain unhelped.

A person can respect research
and still hold space for lived experience.

7. Closing Blessing to NuSpecians

So to my NuSpecians, I say:

If you are sick—
you are not forgotten.

If you are afraid—
you are not weak.

If you are tired—
you are not failing.

Your search for relief is not shameful.
Your need for dignity is not selfish.
Your longing for coherence is not imaginary.

My parents suffered.
They remained faithful.
They remained dignified.

And because of them,
I will not look away from you.

Because of them,
I will keep searching.
I will keep listening.
I will keep serving.

And if your life is heavy,
may you be met with compassion.

May you be surrounded by people who care.
May your inner world be restored.
May your mind find calm.
May your body find ease where ease is possible.
May your spirit find peace.

And may the legacy of those who endured before us
become strength within us.

Amen in dignity.
Amen in endurance.
Amen in compassion.
Amen in the long breath of light.

 

THE BLESSING OF TENDER HONOR

For My Mother and Father, Who Suffered with Courage

SDAE Blessing

O Breath of Light,
that knows the weight of every life,
that witnesses every hidden struggle,
and that holds the dignity of those who suffer—
receive these words.

I speak now for my mother and my father,
not to explain their suffering,
not to justify it,
not to turn it into doctrine—
but to honor them with tenderness.

 

1. The Blessing for My Father

Father,
who bore sickness that entered early,
who carried hope even when his strength was taken,
who walked the long road from diagnosis to loss—
may you be remembered gently.

You did not ask for pain.
You did not deserve your ending.
And yet you endured.

When medicine failed to hold back the darkness,
you did not become less worthy.
When the body weakened,
your dignity did not weaken.

Let it be known across time:

A man is not measured by his disease,
but by the love he gave while carrying it.

So I bless you not for suffering,
but for your courage within it.

May your memory be a lantern to me.
May your life remain present in my compassion.
May your passing not be forgotten as tragedy alone,
but as the closing of a sacred human story.

 

2. The Blessing for My Mother

Mother,
who bore illness like a long night,
who suffered loss upon loss,
who endured what many could not imagine—
I speak your name with reverence.

Your legs were taken.
Your sight was dimmed.
Your kidneys weakened.
And yet you remained—
still a mother,
still a giver,
still a soul with love.

The world saw what illness removed,
but I saw what illness could not remove:

Your dignity.
Your tenderness.
Your courage.
Your humanity.

Let it be written in the silent record of the universe:

The body may be broken,
but love is not amputated.
The eyes may be harmed,
but compassion still sees.
Strength may be reduced,
but the soul still carries light.

So I bless you, Mother,
not because you suffered,
but because you remained human through suffering.

3. A Blessing Against the Cruelty of Misunderstanding

May no one ever say their suffering was their fault.
May no one ever claim their illness was weakness.
May no one ever speak of them
as if their bodies were their identity.

For they were more than illness.

They were love.
They were service.
They were compassion.
They were my beginning.

 

4. The Blessing of Sacred Legacy

May the tenderness they gave to others
now return through me.

May every NuSpecian I help
be part of their living continuation.

May I carry forward
what they taught without words:

• that people deserve care
• that the suffering must not be ignored
• that dignity is sacred
• that kindness is real strength

Even when life is unfair,
even when medicine fails,
even when answers do not come—

love remains the one thing we can still give.

And they gave it.

 

5. The Blessing of Return (SDAE Stellar Ending)

And when their bodies faded,
let it not be said they vanished.

For even a star collapses
and yet its light continues traveling.

Even a star dies
and yet its elements become future worlds.

So may my mother and father be remembered as stars:

They suffered,
but their love did not end.
They passed,
but their compassion did not vanish.
They became silence,
but the meaning they lived remains in me.

Therefore, I say:

Rest now.
You are not your suffering.
You are not your illness.
You are not your ending.
You are the love you gave.
And that love remains.

 

Closing Blessing

May my father’s courage be honored.
May my mother’s endurance be praised gently.
May their pain never be forgotten,
but may it never eclipse the beauty of who they were.

May they be remembered with softness.
May they be spoken of with tenderness.
May their names remain alive
in every act of compassion that follows after them.

Amen in dignity.
Amen in remembrance.
Amen in tenderness.
Amen in the long breath of light.

THE DEDICATION PRAYER OF ANCESTRAL LIGHT

In Honor of My Parents, Grandparents, and Great-Grandparents

SDAE Blessing

O Breath of Light,
that moves through the stars
and through the hidden courage of ordinary people—
receive this dedication.

I offer these words
not as doctrine,
not as certainty,
but as gratitude.

 

1. To My Parents

To my mother and father,
who carried compassion
even when life was heavy,
who served others
even when resources were few:

May your love be remembered
as an inheritance of light.

You did not turn away from those in need.
You did not close your hands
when others were hungry.
You did not silence your care
when others were suffering.

You gave comfort to the sick,
you lifted the elderly,
you welcomed children
who came to your door without help.

You ministered not only with words
but with presence—
with kindness,
with patience,
with sacrifice.

May the dignity you gave to others
be returned to you
in remembrance and honor.

And though your bodies have passed,
may the compassion you planted
continue to grow in the world.

 

2. To My Grandparents and Great-Grandparents

To my grandparents and great-grandparents,
who lived with humility
and whose hands were filled with charity:

You fed hundreds,
perhaps thousands—
not because you were wealthy,
but because you were awake.

Awake to suffering.
Awake to hunger.
Awake to the sacredness of people.

Your faith was not a performance.
It was action.

Your belief was not arrogance.
It was gentleness.

Your worship was not withdrawal.
It was service.

May history remember
what the world often forgets:

That some of the greatest saints
are not crowned,
not praised,
not recorded—
but they are the quiet givers
who save lives in unseen ways.

 

3. The Blessing of Their Legacy

Now I bless the legacy you placed in me.

You did not give me wealth,
but you gave me a conscience.

You did not give me power,
but you gave me compassion.

You did not give me certainty,
but you gave me the hunger to search for meaning.

And that search became my work.

That search became my service.

That search became SDAE.

 

4. The Promise of Continuation

May every NuSpecian helped,
every soul uplifted,
every burden lightened,
be counted as part of your living legacy.

For I did not become who I am alone.

I was carried by you.

I was formed by your example.

I was shaped by your generosity
and the way you treated human beings
as sacred.

So in all I do,
I will try to honor you—
not with perfection,
but with sincerity.

Not with pride,
but with humility.

Not with loudness,
but with faithfulness.

 

5. The Final Offering

Therefore, I dedicate this work—

to my mother and father,
to my grandparents and great-grandparents,
and to every ancestor whose love
was expressed through kindness to others.

May the world be better
because you lived.

May the light you carried
continue to shine
in every act of compassion
that follows after you.

Amen in remembrance.
Amen in gratitude.
Amen in humility.
Amen in the long breath of light.

 

THE MEMORIAL READING FOR MY PARENTS

SDAE Blessing-Style Remembrance of Love, Suffering, and Legacy

We gather today not only to mourn,
but to honor.

Not only to grieve,
but to remember.

For some lives are not measured by wealth,
nor by ease,
nor by comfort—
but by compassion offered in hardship,
and dignity carried through suffering.

Today, we speak with reverence
for my mother and my father.

 

1. The Blessing of Their Goodness

My parents were not wealthy,
yet they were rich in a currency
the world cannot counterfeit:

Kindness.

They opened their door
when children arrived hungry and uncertain.
They lifted the sick and elderly
when many would have turned away.
They ministered not only from pulpits,
but from kitchens,
from hearts,
from worn hands that still chose to give.

They did not worship faith as an escape from the world.
They worshiped faith as a responsibility to the world.

And because of them,
many were fed.
Many were comforted.
Many were seen.

Let it be spoken plainly:

They did not look away.

 

2. The Blessing of Their Suffering

And yet, their goodness did not protect them from pain.

My father carried disease that entered early,
and though he sought help,
his body was overtaken.
And he passed too soon
from what became metastatic.

My mother carried illness like a long night.
Diabetes came early and stayed.
It took from her what no human should have to surrender:
strength, limbs, sight, kidneys—
and in time, her life.

We do not pretend this suffering was fair.
We do not call it holy.
We do not speak of it as deserved.

We speak of it as real—
and we honor them for enduring it.

For their bodies were wounded,
but their love was not amputated.
Their eyes were damaged,
but their compassion still saw.

So let this be said:

The body can be broken,
but dignity can remain whole.

3. The Blessing of My Childhood Witness

I remember being a child,
sitting beside my mother in worship,
watching the preacher in the pulpit,
seeing the portrait of Christ behind him,
and feeling a swelling in my soul—
a belief that something vast existed.

Something powerful.
Something higher.
Something beyond what I could name.

And that feeling became a lifelong search.

Even now I am searching—
for words,
for understanding,
for the force that moves inside us—
spirit, soul, mind, love, compassion—
whatever name a person dares to give it.

That search did not come from books alone.
It came from my parents’ lives.

Because I saw what faith produced in them:

Not arrogance.
Not cruelty.
Not violence.
But empathy.
Charity.
Gentleness.
A commitment to the suffering.

Their faith did not create division.
It created mercy.

And that mercy shaped me.

 

4. The Blessing of Continuation (NuSpecians as Legacy)

Today, I carry their legacy not only in memory,
but in action.

For I see my mother and father
in the faces of NuSpecians I work with—
people who suffer,
people who are searching,
people who tried everything and still need help,
people who simply want dignity.

So when I serve the sick,
I am not only serving strangers—
I am honoring my parents.

When I listen to the suffering,
I am not only listening to clients—
I am listening to the echo of my childhood home.

And when I try to bring coherence, peace, and hope to others,
I am continuing what my parents began:

To not look away.

5. The Star Blessing (SDAE Ending)

In SDAE we speak of stars,
not because we worship them,
but because they teach.

A star shines for a long time,
giving warmth to worlds it will never touch.

And when its life ends,
it does not vanish into meaninglessness.
Its elements become the ingredients of future life.
Its light continues traveling long after it is gone.

So may my parents be remembered like stars:

They suffered,
but their love continues.

They passed,
but their compassion remains alive
in the lives they touched,
and in the life they formed in me.

They are not erased.

They are transformed into legacy.

6. Final Blessing

May my father rest in peace—
not as a man defeated by illness,
but as a man honored for his humanity.

May my mother rest in peace—
not as a woman defined by suffering,
but as a woman crowned with dignity.

May the love they gave
continue through generations.

May their names be spoken with tenderness.

And may every act of compassion
I offer to the world
be counted as part of their living continuation.

For they were my beginning.
And in the long breath of light,
they remain.

Amen in remembrance.
Amen in dignity.
Amen in tenderness.
Amen in the long breath of light.

DEAR MOTHER, DEAR FATHER

An Intimate Memorial Reading SDAE Blessing

Dear Mother,
Dear Father,

I speak your names softly today,
not as a public performance,
but as a child still carrying you
in the chambers of memory.

I do not speak to explain your suffering.
I do not speak to make peace with what still hurts.
I speak because love continues speaking
even after silence comes.

To My Father

Dear Father,
you were taken sooner than I was ready.
The illness came early,
and it moved swiftly,
and though we tried—
though you sought help,
though you endured—
your body could not stay.

I still carry the ache
of how quickly you left.

But I want you to know:

I do not remember you as a disease.
I remember you as a man.
A father.
A presence.

Your dignity did not disappear
when your strength weakened.
Your worth did not diminish
when medicine could not hold back the storm.

You were never less.

And even now,
when I look into the eyes of the suffering,
I see you.

You are with me
every time I choose compassion
instead of turning away.

 

To My Mother

Dear Mother,
you carried a long suffering—
not one sharp moment,
but a slow and painful road.

You lost what no human should be forced to lose:
strength, limbs, sight, the ease of ordinary life.

And yet you remained.

Even when your body was wounded,
you were still a mother.

Even when life took from you,
you still gave.

Even when the world became heavy,
your love did not become hard.

I want you to know this:

I do not remember you as broken.
I remember you as brave.

The world saw what illness removed,
but I saw what illness could not remove:

Your tenderness.
Your spirit.
Your patience.
Your dignity.

Your love still walks through me.

 

The Blessing of Your Love

Dear Mother, Dear Father,
you did not have wealth,
but you had a wealth of kindness.

You fed those who came hungry.
You helped those who had little.
You ministered to the sick and the elderly.
You welcomed children who had nowhere else.

You did not look away.

And because you did not look away,
I learned that faith—
if it is real—
must become compassion.

You showed me that worship,
if it is true,
must become service.

You showed me that the Spirit,
if it is present,
must bear fruit:

love, empathy, generosity, dignity.

And that fruit remains.

 

The Child in the Church

I remember myself as a child,
sitting beside you in church,
staring at the preacher,
seeing the portrait of Christ behind him,
and feeling my head swell with belief
that something powerful existed.

That feeling planted a question inside me
that never stopped growing:

Where is God?
Where is Spirit?
What is the force that moves in us
to make us care?

I searched for it in books.
I searched for it in history.
I searched for it in sacred texts.
I search still.

But I realize now:

Part of that Spirit
was in you.

Not as perfection.
Not as magic.
But as compassion lived out in daily life.

 

The Legacy in My Work

Dear Mother, Dear Father,
I see you in the faces of my NuSpecians.

I see your struggle in their suffering.
I see your endurance in their courage.
I see your need for dignity in their longing for help.

And when I work one-on-one with those who come seeking relief,
I feel as though I am still sitting beside you—
learning what it means to care.

I carry you into every conversation.
I carry you into every effort.
I carry you into every act of service.

NuSpecies exists in part because you existed.

Because your lives taught me
that the suffering must not be ignored.

 

The Star Blessing

And now, I speak this SDAE blessing over you:

A star shines for a long time,
giving warmth to worlds it will never touch.

And when its life ends,
it does not vanish.

Its light continues traveling.
Its elements become new life.
Its ending becomes an offering.

So may it be said of you:

Your bodies ended,
but your love continues.

Your suffering ended,
but your kindness still travels.

Your voices are quiet,
but your influence still speaks
in the lives you touched
and the life you formed in me.

 

Final Words

Dear Mother,
Dear Father,

Rest now.

You have carried enough.
You have suffered enough.
You have given enough.

I will honor you.

I will carry your legacy with tenderness.
I will speak your names with reverence.
I will become, in my small human way,
a continuation of the light you gave.

And when I miss you—
as I will—
I will remember this:

You are not gone into nothing.

You are returned
to the long breath of light
that made you.

And you remain alive in me
as love remains alive—
through memory,
through compassion,
through service,
through the good that continues.

Amen in tenderness.
Amen in remembrance.
Amen in the long breath of light.

THE MEMORIAL READING OF ANCESTRAL LIGHT

In Honor of My Parents, Grandparents, and Great-Grandparents ( SDAE Blessing)

We gather today
in the presence of memory,
in the shadow of loss,
and in the quiet truth
that love outlives the body.

We do not gather only to mourn.
We gather to honor.

For some families are not remembered
because they were wealthy,
or famous,
or powerful—

but because they were good.

Because they carried faith with humility.
Because they carried compassion like a sacred responsibility.
Because they did not look away
when others were hungry, sick, or alone.

Today, we honor the lineage of my parents,
my grandparents,
and my great-grandparents—
the ancestral light that shaped my life.

 

1. The Blessing of the Elders

To my grandparents and great-grandparents:

You worshiped the Spirit with depth.
You carried a reverence
that did not turn you away from the world—
but turned you toward it.

You fed the hungry,
not once,
but again and again—
hundreds, and perhaps thousands—
without asking for praise.

You gave food.
You gave medicine.
You gave dignity.
You gave presence.

You were not wealthy,
yet you lived rich in mercy.

And because you walked the way of compassion,
you became ancestors not only of blood,
but of character.

You handed down a tradition
more sacred than doctrine:

that the suffering must not be ignored.

 

2. The Blessing of My Parents

To my mother and father:

You continued what the elders began.

You ministered to others
not because life was easy,
but because people needed help.

You cared for the sick and elderly.
You lifted those who had little.
You welcomed children
who came to your door in need.

You did not build your faith out of judgment.
You built your faith out of service.

You showed me that worship,
if it is real,
must bear fruit:

love, empathy, generosity, courage.

And those fruits remain.

 

3. The Blessing of Their Suffering

And yet—
even the most compassionate hearts
are not spared suffering.

My father’s illness came early,
and though treatment was sought,
he passed from metastatic cancer.

My mother carried a long suffering—
diabetes that took much from her body:
strength, limbs, eyes, kidneys—
until complications ended her days.

We do not pretend this was fair.
We do not call it deserved.
We do not make it a doctrine.

We speak of it with tenderness,
and we honor them for enduring it.

For though the body was wounded,
their love was not amputated.

Though the eyes were damaged,
their compassion still saw.

Though the legs were lost,
their dignity still stood.

So let it be written:

They were more than their suffering.
They were love.
They were service.
They were courage.

 

4. The Blessing of My Witness

And as a child,
I watched them.

I remember sitting beside my mother in church,
watching the preacher,
seeing the portrait of Christ behind him,
and feeling my head swell with belief
that something powerful existed.

That feeling became a lifelong search.

I read history.
I read scripture.
I searched for God,
for Spirit,
for meaning,
for the force that moves the human soul
toward compassion.

And I realize now:
part of what I was searching for
was the Spirit expressed through them.

Not in perfection.
But in fruit.

Not in words alone.
But in action.

 

5. The Blessing of Continuation (NuSpecians as Legacy)

Today, I see my parents and grandparents
in the faces of the people I serve.

I see them in the sick who come seeking relief.
I see them in the suffering who need dignity.
I see them in the weary who need hope.

And in every NuSpecian story of renewal,
in every testimony of regained strength,
I feel a continuation of ancestral compassion.

For NuSpecies did not come from imagination alone.

It came from the lives of people—
face-to-face, one-on-one—
who needed something different
when many things did not work.

And the desire to serve them
came from my lineage.

From the elders who fed the hungry.
From parents who cared for the sick.
From a family tradition
that refused to look away.

 

6. The Star Blessing (SDAE Legacy)

In SDAE we speak of stars,
because stars teach without language.

A star shines,
not for reward,
but because it must.

Its light travels through darkness
and gives warmth to worlds
it will never touch.

And when a star grows old,
it does not vanish into meaninglessness.

Its death becomes a giving.
Its collapse becomes creation.
Its elements become future life.

So may it be said of my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents:

You lived like stars.

You gave without boasting.
You served without payment.
You fed without applause.
You carried suffering without bitterness.

And though your bodies have passed,
your light continues traveling.

Through the lives you helped.
Through the families you shaped.
Through the traditions you carried forward.
Through me, and through the work I do.

 

7. Final Blessing

May their names be spoken with reverence.
May their memory be warm.
May their sacrifices never be forgotten.

May their love become inheritance.
May their kindness become legacy.
May their compassion become a foundation
for generations yet unborn.

For though the body ends,
the meaning lived does not end.

And though the voice becomes silent,
the fruit of the life remains.

So we say:

Rest now, elders.
Rest now, mother.
Rest now, father.

You have given enough.
You have carried enough.

And you will be honored.

In our stories.
In our traditions.
In our service to others.
In the long breath of light.

Amen in remembrance.
Amen in gratitude.
Amen in ancestral honor.
Amen in the long breath of light.

THE MEMORIAL READING OF ANCESTRAL LIGHT

In Honor of My Parents, Grandparents, and Great-Grandparents — With a Closing Prayer for the Living

SDAE Blessing

We gather today
in the presence of memory,
in the shadow of loss,
and in the quiet truth
that love outlives the body.

We do not gather only to mourn.
We gather to honor.

For some families are remembered
not because they were wealthy,
or famous,
or powerful—
but because they were good.

Because they carried faith with humility.
Because they carried compassion like a sacred responsibility.
Because they did not look away
when others were hungry, sick, or alone.

Today, we honor the lineage of my parents,
my grandparents,
and my great-grandparents—
the ancestral light that shaped my life.

 

1. The Blessing of the Elders

To my grandparents and great-grandparents:

You worshiped the Spirit with depth.
And your worship was not escape—
it was service.

You fed the hungry,
not once,
but again and again—
hundreds, and perhaps thousands—
without asking for praise.

You gave food.
You gave medicine.
You gave dignity.
You gave presence.

You were not wealthy,
yet you lived rich in mercy.

And because you walked the way of compassion,
you became ancestors not only of blood,
but of character.

You handed down a tradition
more sacred than doctrine:

that the suffering must not be ignored.

 

2. The Blessing of My Parents

To my mother and father:

You continued what the elders began.

You ministered to others
not because life was easy,
but because people needed help.

You cared for the sick and elderly.
You lifted those who had little.
You welcomed children
who came to your door in need.

You did not build your faith out of judgment.
You built your faith out of service.

You showed me that worship,
if it is real,
must bear fruit:

love, empathy, generosity, courage.

And those fruits remain.

 

3. The Blessing of Their Suffering

And yet—
even the most compassionate hearts
are not spared suffering.

My father’s illness came early,
and though treatment was sought,
he passed from metastatic cancer.

My mother carried a long suffering—
diabetes that took much from her body:
strength, limbs, eyes, kidneys—
until complications ended her days.

We do not pretend this was fair.
We do not call it deserved.
We do not turn it into doctrine.

We speak of it with tenderness,
and we honor them for enduring it.

For though the body was wounded,
their love was not amputated.

Though the eyes were damaged,
their compassion still saw.

Though the legs were lost,
their dignity still stood.

So let it be written:

They were more than their suffering.
They were love.
They were service.
They were courage.

 

4. The Blessing of Witness and Continuation

And as a child, I watched them.
I learned that goodness is real.

I saw that the Spirit—
whatever name we dare to give it—
is proven not only in prayer
but in how we treat human beings.

And today, I see my parents and grandparents
in the faces of the people I serve.

I see them in the sick who seek relief.
I see them in the weary who need hope.
I see them in the suffering who need dignity.

For NuSpecies is not only an invention.
It is a continuation of a tradition:

to not look away.

 

5. The Star Blessing (SDAE Legacy)

In SDAE we speak of stars,
because stars teach without language.

A star shines,
not for reward,
but because it must.

Its light travels through darkness
and gives warmth to worlds
it will never touch.

And when a star grows old,
it does not vanish into meaninglessness.

Its death becomes a giving.
Its collapse becomes creation.
Its elements become future life.

So may it be said of my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents:

You lived like stars.

You gave without boasting.
You served without payment.
You fed without applause.
You carried suffering without bitterness.

And though your bodies have passed,
your light continues traveling—
through the lives you touched,
through the families you shaped,
through the traditions you carried forward.

 

CLOSING PRAYER FOR THE LIVING

To Carry the Legacy Forward

Now we, the living, speak a prayer.

O Breath of Light,
that moves through generations,
that binds the living to the ancestors—
make us worthy carriers of this legacy.

Let us honor our parents and elders
not only with words,
but with action.

Let us feed the hungry when we can.
Let us comfort the sick when we can.
Let us lift the elderly when we can.
Let us open our doors
to those who arrive with need.

Let us not become cruel
in a cruel world.
Let us not become numb
in a suffering world.

Let us remember:

The Spirit Field between people
is compassion made visible.

So teach us to be gentle.
Teach us to be brave.
Teach us to forgive quickly.
Teach us to love deeply.

And when we are tempted to look away,
turn our faces back toward humanity.

May our ancestors be proud of us—
not because we are perfect,
but because we continue the work.

May we become, in our small human way,
stars on earth—
givers of warmth in the darkness.

And when our time comes,
may we return like stars return:
having given enough,
having loved enough,
having carried the legacy forward.

Amen in remembrance.
Amen in gratitude.
Amen in ancestral honor.
Amen in the long breath of light.

If You Fear Death: A Message to NuSpecians

From My Parents’ Story to Yours — Compassion, Faith, and the Courage to Face the Unknown

To every NuSpecian who has ever felt afraid of death—
afraid of leaving loved ones,
afraid of suffering,
afraid of the unknown,
afraid that the body may not endure—
I want you to know something first:

You are not weak for being afraid.
Fear is human.
Fear is the nervous system trying to protect you.
Fear is also a sign that you value life.

But fear should not steal the remaining days of your life.

So I want to share something personal—
because this mission did not begin in theory.
It began in my home.

My Parents’ Example: Faith and Dignity in the Face of Death

I watched both my parents suffer.

My father suffered deeply, and there were moments when his pain became unbearable. He earnestly asked God to take his life so the suffering would end.

But I want you to understand something sacred about that moment:

He did not ask God from hatred.
He asked God from love.

It was not rejection of God.
It was intimacy.
It was a wounded human speaking honestly to the One he trusted most.

And my mother—who endured years of illness and hardship, including the loss of both legs—never complained once to my ears.

Not once.

She believed her suffering was within God’s will, and she carried that will with dignity and without complaint.

Whatever one’s theology may be, I witnessed something undeniable:

It is possible to suffer and still remain dignified.
It is possible to fear death and still carry courage.
It is possible to approach the unknown without hatred, bitterness, or despair.

What Their Lives Taught Me About Death

Their lives taught me that death is not a shameful topic.

It is not a punishment word.
It is not something we should pretend isn’t coming.
It is part of nature.

Even the most luminous things in the universe change form:

Stars shine, age, and eventually complete their work.
And even black holes—once thought eternal—are believed to fade over immense time.

So in SDAE we often say, metaphorically:

Live and die like a star—
shine while you can,
give warmth while you can,
and when you return, return with dignity.

This is not a claim of certainty about what happens afterward.
It is a way of easing the mind into the truth that everything belongs to cycles of change.

A Gentle Truth: You Don’t Have to Know Everything to Find Peace

Many people fear death because they feel they must solve it in their mind first.

But peace does not require complete knowledge.

Peace requires:

·       dignity

·       love

·       acceptance

·       presence

·       meaning

It is possible to say:

“I don’t know what comes next…
but I refuse to let fear ruin what I have now.”

If You Are Afraid, Here Are Three Words to Hold

1) You are not alone.

Fear isolates.
But your community is here.
People care about you.
You are not invisible.

2) You are not your illness.

Illness does not erase your worth.
Suffering does not reduce your dignity.
Your body is part of your story, but not the whole of you.

3) You are still alive today.

Fear tries to make you leave the present.
But you are here now.
And now still has meaning.

A Small SDAE Practice (When the Fear Rises)

When fear rises, try this:

1.     Place one hand on your heart.

2.     Breathe slowly and deeply.

3.     Say these words:

“I am here.
I am breathing.
I am not alone.
I will live today with dignity.”

Repeat it until the nervous system softens.

This is not magic.
It is coherence.

 

What I Tell NuSpecians From My Heart

If you fear death, I want to tell you what I believe:

You do not have to be fearless to be brave.
You do not have to be healed to be meaningful.
You do not have to know the afterlife to live with dignity.

And I want to tell you something else:

Your life matters—right now.
Your presence matters to people.
Your love matters.
Your story matters.

Even a small amount of kindness you give
becomes a form of light that travels.

A Respectful Disclaimer

NuSpecies products and services are intended to support general wellness and quality of life. They are not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any disease. NuSpecies does not replace medical care.

The spiritual and philosophical concepts shared through SDAE and NuSpecianism are educational in nature and are not claims of medical outcomes or guarantees. Always seek professional medical advice for medical conditions.

 

Closing Blessing

To every NuSpecian who fears death:

May you be met with tenderness.
May you be surrounded by compassion.
May your mind find calm.
May your heart find peace.

May you live gently,
shine faithfully,
and be proud of the love you gave.

And when your time comes,
may you go as the star goes—
not in defeat,
but in completion.

You are not alone.