My life story

 Please read through and provide your advice to Chinedu. True life story.

You can reach him via phone at +234 803 045 0676 or by email at ikfrank50@gmail.com.

WHEN LOVE HURTS: A CRY FROM THE SILENT BED

The first time I met Mr. Chinedu, his eyes told a story deeper than words could capture. He lay on a hospital bed in a local health center, his body weakened by a spinal cord injury, but his spirit still clinging to something—perhaps hope, perhaps disappointment. He didn’t cry when the nurse adjusted his limbs, nor when the pain medication ran late. He cried when he spoke of his daughter. “She walked past me like I didn’t exist,” he whispered, “my own daughter, who used to hug me before school every morning, now walks by like a stranger.”

He continued, “The most painful thing isn’t even the paralysis—it’s the way people you gave everything to suddenly treat you like nothing. My wife, my joy, now walks in and out of the room like I’m just a fixture. She only answers when our 3-year-old son needs help in the bathroom, and that’s when I shout for her to just turn me to the other side.”

This story isn't fiction. It is a cry from a bed of sorrow, a place where the spirit is more wounded than the body. A place where silence screams louder than words. And it calls us to reflect deeply on the fragile threads of human compassion.

The spinal cord is not just a part of the body—it is the highway of strength, motion, and independence. When it fails, the body doesn’t just stop moving, the world around seems to stop caring. You lie in one position for ten hours, your thoughts racing, your hope draining, and the ones you cherish most begin to act like distant neighbors.

“I looked on my right hand, and beheld, but there was no man that would know me: refuge failed me; no man cared for my soul.” —Psalm 142:4 (KJV)

Sickness, especially something as immobilizing as spinal cord injury, unveils truths that health often hides. It reveals whether love was rooted in convenience or conviction. It tests the promises made in laughter and measures the weight of vows taken at the altar. “For better, for worse” becomes a theory for some, and a reality for others.

Adage: “You never know the worth of water till the well runs dry.”

Mr. Chinedu’s story is one many silently live. You give all your strength, your years, your love—only to find that in your moment of weakness, your loudest cry is met with silence. The betrayal isn't in the absence of help; it is in the deliberate act of ignoring someone who once carried the burdens of everyone else.

“But when he was strong, his heart was lifted up to his destruction” —2 Chronicles 26:16 (KJV)

When you are strong and providing, they sing your praises. But when your strength fails, their songs turn into silence. The man who paid school fees, who built the house, who wiped their tears—now becomes invisible in his own home.

Adage: “A tree is best measured when it falls.”

The saddest part is that he began praying every night—not for healing, not for comfort—but that his 3-year-old son would wake up to use the toilet. That small boy’s need was the only channel through which he could be noticed by the woman he married. Imagine needing a child’s bladder to become visible to your spouse.

There is a certain coldness that pain cannot explain, and abandonment cannot justify. No pain is as deep as watching your family continue life like you are no longer part of it. The same family you would have taken a bullet for. The same daughter who once climbed on your back for fun now avoids your gaze.

“Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.” —Isaiah 49:15 (KJV)

Thank God that He is not like man. When everyone walks out, He walks in. When you’re abandoned, He stands by. He doesn’t forget the work of your hands or the tears of your night. He sees you, even when others choose to act blind.

This is a strong reminder to every person: take care of yourself. Protect your health, preserve your peace, and do not overextend for those who may not remember your sacrifices. It may sound harsh, but it's wisdom soaked in tears.

Adage: “He who gives his all and forgets himself ends up forgotten.”

Your body is a temple, not a battleground to be broken in the name of love. Be kind to yourself. Because when your hands are no longer able to give, many will forget the hands that once fed them. Some will forget your laughter when your voice becomes weak. Some will walk away when you can no longer walk.

And if you are reading this and have someone in your life lying helpless on a bed, don’t let familiarity breed forgetfulness. Visit them. Speak to them. Touch them. Love them loudly. Because it is not weakness that breaks a person—it is the quiet, constant realization that they are no longer needed.

“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.” —Galatians 6:2 (KJV)

To those who are caregivers: your silence is louder than screams. Your kindness is a healing balm. A simple touch, a glass of water, a turn to the other side—these are not tasks, they are ministries.

Adage: “A kind word can heal a wound that medicine cannot reach.”

To those who are wounded, paralyzed, broken: God sees you. He has not forgotten you. Your tears are not wasted, and your worth is not tied to your movement. Your story still matters, even if the world acts like it doesn’t. And there are those, like us, who will still speak for you, write for you, and remind the world of the dignity in your pain.

In the end, life is not about what we receive, but about the love we give and the legacy we leave. And even if others forget, God remembers.

“For God is not unrighteous to forget your work and labour of love, which ye have shewed toward his name…” —Hebrews 6:10 (KJV)

Final Adage: “Let no man live in such a way that when he can no longer give, he is no longer loved.”

So I leave you with this charge: Love people while they can still hear your voice. Honor the hands that once carried you. And if you are strong today, remember, strength is not permanent—but love, when true, endures beyond pain.

Thanks.

IKECHUKWU FRANK