When I think about myself as a Father there are just too many feelings, emotions and stories to convey. I think the ones to cover are the big ones, the life changers.
When Deanna was born, the first time I saw her was just indescribable. Telling the story might help to explain it. We went to the hospital on May 2nd to induce labor. After several hours with no progress they decided to break my wife’s water to speed up the process. Thirty seven sleepless hours into delivery they determined that since the water had been broken for twenty four hours the risk of infection was too high, so they ordered an emergency cesarean. No one, of course, felt the need to warn me that the husband is not allowed in the delivery room for an emergency delivery. They did tell me there was a chance at least one of them might not make it. Nice, right? Thank you, Doctor Hopeful.
As they wheeled her down the hallway I pranced alongside her in my Doogie Houser MD outfit. Excited and terrified, with a varying mix of both emotions that changed without notice. We got to the doors for the operating room hallway and a nurse placed a hand on my chest to stop me. The rest of the team pushed my wife’s bed past the doors and then it dawned on me that I was horribly and terribly alone in the hallway…and they were not coming back!
Some poor nurse whose name I never got was the unfortunate one to walk out and run into me. I was not angry at being forgotten, not at all. In fact that poor woman likely saw something that would equate to the loneliest saddest lost puppy staring back at her. She asked if I was alright, seeing I was clearly upset. I said “They stopped me out here and brought my wife in for the operation and I DIDN’T GET TO TELL HER I LOVE HER, how will SHE KNOW?”
That seemed to get my feeling across, as the nurse starting crying too. She went back in and came out a minute later and said I could come in. The doctor didn’t want me in because I might be in the way. But the anesthesiologist gave up his seat so I could come in; he stood behind me for the operation.
When the Doctor held Deanna up it was a feeling I can’t explain besides to say that I’m convinced that I felt every single human emotion at the same instant. So happy and relieved but emotionally knowing that it was “game on” for raising a child from day one. My step daughter Teresa was kind enough to be a year old when I met her so I had never had to experience the most fragile days of a newborn's life. I remember Deanna crying when they placed her on the warming table. Her stats were better than expected and you could tell the nurses were pleasantly surprised. I touched her hand for the very first time and leaned closer, pulled down my surgical mask and said “its Ok baby, see, it’s Daddy”.
Ok, yes, in retrospect it’s quite obvious that she had never seen me before. It’s also true that as a newborn she probably just saw a big fuzzy Dad shaped blob. But regardless of all that, she stopped crying. So luckily my first parenting decision based on emotion and not logic was a good one.
Danny’s birth was the opposite, all the fear and uncertainty was gone. This was a planned operation and the doctor was much better. In fact Danny was one of his last deliveries as he moved on to be the head of the department for that hospital. He walked into the operating room and said “Hey it looks like today is someone’s birthday, I love birthday parties”
The other parent moment is a tricky one to explain. In fact I don’t even know the date or time it happened. I do know it was during the year where I had reached the same age that my father was when he died. Regardless of the date it was a life changer.
It was a moment of anger, a moment of righteous indignation where I realized that we are all finite beings. I was angry that I had these children but knew I only had a limited amount of time to spend with them. I guess I never questioned my own mortality until I had something that was so amazing that I didn’t want to imagine it ever ending. Realizing that there was so much to live for than I knew, finding a self-worth from being a part of someone else’s life. It just wasn’t a concept I was ready to process.
I’ve always been intrigued by the concept of three deaths. Not the Tolstoy novel mind you, I mean the one presented by David Eagleman. “There are three deaths. The first is when the body ceases to function. The second is when the body is consigned to the grave. The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is spoken for the last time.”
The way I see it, I can sit around and mourn the movies they’ll never make about me or I can focus on how my name will actually live on after I’m gone. I don’t have a lot of resources with three kids a disabled wife and a single income. I haven’t even been able to pay back the people I owe, although I have vowed to do so one day. Right now all I can do is pour everything I have into my children and to make every effort to be the best Father and best example to them that I can. I don’t have career goals in mind for them; I don’t have rigid expectations either. I’ll be happy with who they are and whatever they do, because I’m proud of the people they are not just their accomplishment.
What I do have at my disposal is a vast and infinite love for them that will continue on after I am gone. So not only will I avoid that third death as long as possible but when they speak my name they will also be reminded of how much they are loved and that they have a value that is greater than any of the riches on this Earth. That’s the same way I keep Dennis Daniel Leary alive in my heart. They deserve that too.
