My dad

I love everything about you. I love being your dad. The blur of the last 18 years felt purposeful, special, and memorable. It has been cherished. I can’t believe your childhood is over. I’m at peace.

You’re ready for life without me, but I’m overjoyed that you’re not without me yet. I overflow with pride to see who you are, and who you are still becoming. I love that you’re a lot like me, but a much better version. You have a special drive, one that exceeds mine. I want to prove something to myself and the world. I have a humongous chip on my shoulder. I beat myself up over the little things.

Your greatness just naturally pours out of you. You’re comfortable in your skin. You’re ok with being shy and awkward. You love others just because you love them. It comes easy to you and not out of obligation. You serve because you enjoy serving.

I’m finished officially raising you. I’ve told others this year that I feel like we landed the plane on the runway smoothly. But I guess from your perspective, the plane is just now taking off. I can’t wait to see where you go and what you’ll do.

I can pat myself on the back about these things. You know who I am. I’ve tried to hold nothing back. I’ve been there for you. I will always be here for you one way or another. I’m not just your dad anymore. I’m your peer. I’m your friend. But you’ll always be my boy. I am so damn proud of you.

Grateful, but…

I’ve heard a few sayings along the line of “it’s impossible to be grateful and anxious, or grateful and depressed.”  I know there is some truth in that, but… life and truth is full of tension and conflict. 

I cannot put into words how grateful I am for my family. I have a gorgeous wife who loves me and and is committed to us. We celebrate 20 years of marriage in a few months, and I couldn’t be more blessed. I have four wonderful, healthy kids who I can just think about and start smiling. Being their dad is truly my proudest role. I have a career with great purpose and a skillset that helps me be relatively successful.  I’m blessed. However, I often feel conflicting emotions about my blessings. 

My work is a blessing. It’s meaningful and rewarding- but it is simultaneously heavy and stressful. As I think about my job, I appreciate that my sacrifice of stress goes to provide a loving home and care to those who are in need. Yet I also know there are many burdens that come with the job that are impossible to ignore. I dream of the day that I feel it’s ok to hand it over. 

I don’t want to sound overly dramatic.  There are conflicting moments that I have that I imagine others can just simply enjoy.  Something as simple as having Anna at 16 years old come and lay her head and arm across my chest when I’m taking a Power Nap. I feel so weak in that moment. I feel vulnerable. I feel afraid knowing one day I may not be there for her. I feel mortal. I try to enjoy the moment, and I actually do relish it, yet I’m pained knowing it’s just a moment. 

No other life goal trumps my desire to become an old, strong grandpa. I want to be the rock my kids and grandkids can lean on. I want them to see how I love and honor their matriarch. I want to show them the way.  I want to be what and who they deserve to have. I’m afraid of leaving them. 

I am strong. I remind myself I’m weak. I guess I don’t really have to. I feel weak a lot. It’s like in the gym. I love the challenge of walking up to a loaded squat bar or pressing a heavy load off my chest. I’m not going let the weight win. But as soon as the lift is over I feel my blood pressure drop and the room gets dark for a second. I drop to one knee.  Similarly, I can handle the heavy weight, yet don’t ask my compromised discs to do a burpee to the ground or to do rx kettlebell swings. I’m kind of broken in that way. 

But I’m strong enough. I’m strong enough to carry the family business and the weight of stress that comes with it. I can look back on some shitty seasons and know I made it through (maybe barely). I’m strong enough to provide for and lead my family. I’m strong enough to not throw in the towel and do my damndest to be there for them. I’m strong enough to be honest with them. 

I think I am learning it’s ok to be both broken and strong. It’s ok to be blessed and burdened. It’s ok to be grateful for this amazing life I’m literally (or at least hopefully) right in the middle of, while also constantly being reminded that’s it’s temporary. 41 more years of this would be hard, but it would be.

I was angry at my dad yesterday. I guess I may be most days without realizing it. But yesterday I felt it, acknowledged it, vocalized it. Yesterday I resented the void he left in my big brother’s life, and the weight on mine. Today I am tired.

Yesterday morning my big brother sat up in a ER hospital bed, uncomfortable and struggling to breathe. Yet he was still the same big brother making everyone laugh. He introduced me to the ER staff as his lover. He poked fun at the youthful appearance of the elders who came and prayed for him. Every new person who entered the room was greeted with another wise crack. This morning my big brother is sedated, intubated and on a ventilator.

Yesterday morning I was the baby big brother. I guess I am most days- at least I feel like I need to be. When my sister in law left the room for a few minutes, the jokes stopped. My big brother reached out for me. He put my hand on his face and leaned in on my shoulder. He told me he was scared. He cried. He told me “you don’t even know how you’ve helped me get through.” In that moment I again both felt and filled the void I’ve felt countless times in my life. I was big brother. I was dad. I was and am so thankful to be that dependable source of strength, comfort, and love that my big brother always deserved to have in his life.

But I’m also resentful and angry. If dad had been here for him, the events leading up to yesterday may have never happened. If dad had been there for us, I could have had a shoulder to cry on too.