I had always considered myself a good father. I worked hard to provide for my family in the face of all adversity, I tried to travel with them to protect them from others, I sacrificed things in my life in the name of growing up and taking responsibility for my actions. But recently, I have found that I am somewhat lacking. For the record, this has nothing to do with the mysterious blog post I previously wrote. That's a different beast entirely. No this is something that needs to change in me.
For those of you who don't know, I have 2 children. Lyric is 4 and is very bright. She is musically and artistically inclined just like her daddy. Dorian is almost 2 and a bull headed boy through and through. It sounds like a regular ho-hum family, but ours is a bit more challenging. Our daughter has type-1 diabetes. Now, this isn't like type-2 that fat asses get, this is hardcore insulin pump no cure style. Its been a bit rough.
As a father, I jumped in there along with my wife with both feet, learning everything that we could to keep her alive. It was the hardest time of my life as a parent. Literally, every time we gave her insulin we were saving her life. And her life needs to be saved at every meal. If she doesn't get it, she has to go straight to the hospital because her blood will become acidic. I resented it. I hated the disease. I hated what it was doing to my marriage, the family I've tried so hard to keep together, and to the daughter that I loved. But, with the hatred of the disease came resentment towards Lyric.
It wasn't intentional. In fact, I never even realized it until just a short time ago. Fighting all day every day with something that we can mostly keep under control had worn on me. I would see the disease and not the child sometimes. I still loved her very much, she is my daughter. But I was tired. I had grown weary of the fight. And unfortunately that took a toll on the relationship that I had with her. We would battle all the time, arguing back and forth as if we were on some common ground of frustration with the other. Our fights usually ended up with her in timeout for talking back and showing her butt. I still have to parent after all. Unfortunately, she showed her butt because of me, and she was in timeout for the same reason. It wasn't fair. The breaking moment was when I told her to SHUT UP in a very stern voice. It was at that point I knew something was wrong. I didn't know how to handle it. I would sit back and watch my wife with her. They had their battles, but Jessie was the authority. Lyric never talked back to her the same way she did me. The relationship was different. I was wondering how I was lacking. For weeks I rode it out, still frustrated, knowing that in time I learn my lessons. Fortunately, it happened sooner than later.
2 hours after Lyric went to bed, I went upstairs to check her blood sugar. I know it was 2 hours because its always that amount of time. That's how often we have to check her to make sure she's not in some danger with her levels. She was still awake. Just great. She was supposed to be asleep. So I checked her blood and tucked her back in. As I left the room she called me back in. Shit. I have to go play Street Fighter 2. Reluctantly I sat on her bed. I was floored by what happened next.
She proceeded to tell me in a very plain dialogue that she wished her younger brother was as old as she was so they could play together. I stopped. It was almost as if I literally heard squealing tires in my ears. Did that SERIOUSLY come out of her mouth??!! I didn't believe it. I chalked it up to some random banter that young children spew when they want to avoid going to bed. But, she continued and told me that she also wished that she was as small as Dorian. She had her hands on her head and was literally pushing herself down with all of her strength in an effort to get smaller. She had my full attention. We talked for a few minutes. This made her legitimately upset. She sat up in her bed and turned away from me, putting her elbows on her knees and cradling her chin. I wasn't able to make her understand in a kid way that they would never be the same size, I wish I could. I wouldn't even know how to word such a thing. Like a light switch though, the conversation turned to more trivial things, like dolls and pizza. She was stalling. I kissed her on the cheek and sent her to bed. I still have to be a parent after all.
It was the all powerful self-observance after the fact that got me thinking. I told Jessie about the conversation. She didn't understand that this was a big deal for me at the time. I can only assume its because she talks like this to her all the time. But for me it was greater. I just talked to my daughter about her feelings in a way that I never had before. She was open, it was a deep subject, and I actually understood everything she had to say. She was a person, my daughter. She wasn't a disease and oh an asshole I have been. The day after, I find myself stopping and really trying to hear what she's telling me. I feel like Ive missed out on so much intellectual growing in her life because I've been so focused on her disease rather than her.
I assume every parent with a special needs child goes through this at one time or another. But its those moments where you see a living, breathing, smart, funny, thinking, beautiful little person in there just trying to deal with the cards that they've been dealt that makes you realize things about yourself.
