Nothing is comparable to the pain of witnessing your own parent plunge into nonexistence as death silently robs them away from you. It might initially be surreal. You could end up sitting on the cold floor of a hospital, momentarily transported to a semi-conscious state and only jostled to awareness when a mature (or emotionally stronger) family member holds your shoulder in empathy.
Don’t take any shit.
You learn that they have faults. You start to realize that everything does not come easy to them, the way that you thought it did.
You will be comfortable, but will still know struggle.
You understand the balance between being the life of the party and knowing how to share the spotlight.
“That’s right Rob,” he said it again: “You’re a dad now. Everything changes when you have kids.”
Even from inside our studio apartment, 30 yards from the main house, we could hear our parents yelling at each other that night. I don’t think there has ever been a time when they would restrain themselves for anyone’s sake.
You did not labor and you do not need to sleep now. Your responsibility is to be the bridge from the the safest place that baby will ever know – his mother’s tummy – to the scariest place – the world. You are most needed in this moment, more than you will ever be needed again.
They tell you about job postings in your hometown they wish you’d apply to. Meanwhile you’re thinking, did you forget I went to college and don’t live anywhere near here now??
I’m here to be the person in your life you can lean on whenever the world feels like it’s falling apart. Whenever you think you’re totally alone in this world and you have no one? Call me.