Reflections on Imminent Fatherhood (or: Holy Shit, I’m About to be a Dad) #3

[I don’t even know if I’m using proper capitalizAtion in the post titles…]

A night storm...
A night storm…

At the end of a long day you’re ready to just crash; but you really ought to take that shower…just one more thing and then – oh, wait. After the shower you have to still floss and brush.

Okay.

Shower. Floss. Brush.

Pajamas.

Pillow.

Sleep.

KA-BANG

During the quiet, peaceful tones of night and sleep wind currents, air pressures, moisture levels and the like have all been conspiring, colluding, and colliding to create a thunderstorm.

With the rapid expansion of super-heated air, you’re jolted awake.

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I can’t quite put my finger on it, but somewhere early on in my life I got it in my head that I’m not worthy of good things. Anything I’ve ever wanted, loved, enjoyed, appreciated is always taken away from me long before I’ve had a chance to really experience it.

At some point later I learned that if I do enough, that if I work hard enough I will be able to earn the right to possess good things. However, with the ability to earn comes the propensity to lose. And so, I would, at times, earn these good things. Not too long after, I would ultimately slip up and then lose that which I understood I had earned.

Entering my 30s, a few years back, I started to finally really get it.

Shit just happens. Good and bad.

The only thing we have even a measure of control over is how we respond to shit, great and small, good and bad, wonderful and terrible.

How we respond to it on one level corresponds to how we respond on a different one. Usually good to great and bad to worse.

It’s taken some monumental disillusionment to destroy that way of thinking – that is, that one must earn the gifts life brings.

And yet, such ways of thinking are so scorched and enmeshed within my soul, scarred into my spirit, wrinkled into my brain that as the clock of life clicks ever closer to the birth of my first son, an irrational yet palpable fear, at times, consumes me.

Some complication will arise claiming the life of my wife, my son, or both.

What have I done to warrant having such a joyful relationship these last two years? What labor have I performed to earn such a great marriage this last year and a quarter? And now a child? And now a son??

Surely every terrible lapse in judgment I’ve committed will catch up with me in mere moments…no, me suddenly dying would be too merciful.

There’s a place in my heart from which a voice declares, “You must live long and in misery for the crimes against reality you’ve committed!” That voice reverberates in my head and I have daymares; it echoes in my lungs and my chest grows tight; it resonates in my gut and everything is awful.

But in the smile of my wife, in the kindness of a stranger, in the misfortune of a colleague, in the wetness of the rain I am reminded for the umpteenth time that there are forces much greater than my will at work in the world.

In the grand scheme of things I’ve not done a damn thing to earn a damned – or blessed – thing.

Jenny loves me freely. Regardless of what I do, li’l ol’ what’s-his-name continues to grow within her body.

God is just and merciful; the universe is fair and gracious; petty things have no place in the dispensation of circumstance.

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With the rapid expansion of super-heated air, I’m jolted awake.

History is but a vivid dream.

In the waking world, life is what I make of it, depending on how I play the hands I’m dealt.

I’m grateful for the night storm, waking me from my nightmares.

 

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