If you’re a new reader of mine… you know I’m a ball of stress A-L-O-T. I’ve even been officially diagnosed with a (sometimes) seemingly overwhelmingly crippling form of OCD.
Before I became a father… I had more humorous form of the OCD condition i.e. checking locks on the door incessantly before bed, checking and re-checking to make sure everything was off before leaving the house, having to drive back home to make sure the garage door was not left open, etc. etc. etc.
When a baby human… not just any baby human… MY BABY HUMAN was added to the mix my condition mutated into a much more horrifying thought process that dragged my mind to the pits of despair and back again… continually.
I never knew depression.
I never knew anxiety.
I know them very well now.
I want to protect my little girl and ensure the safety of her soul, mind and body. I want a signed document delivered to me that DLG will leave this Earth as a 100-year-old woman destined for the biggest castle in heaven while leaving a legacy of love behind her affecting the lives of millions.
I know that document will never come.
And therein lies the problem with my OCD condition.
I’ll never know the answer to every question. I’ll never know the end to every story. I’ll never be able to figure out every problem.
And it drives me fucking nuts.
DLG doesn’t understand what I’m going through and when I’m going through it I don’t let her know. I play and roll around with her, I tickle her and throw her in the air, I smash play-do and color with markers despite the fact I may have a sad look hidden behind my eyes. She knows me as the same daddy regardless of what emotions I may be going through… and that’s the way it’s always going to be.
During a recent struggle of mine, I was snuggling with DLG during our night-time ritual of bedtime stories, prayers and singing songs. While rocking her and worrying enlessly admidst some of her aimless blather she so commonly displays on her way to dreams of helium balloons and pools full of books she looked up at me and said this: “Let go. Let go.”
There’s no way she knew that what she was saying might have tied into what I was feeling… but it did.
It’s not even that what she said wasn’t something that was especially new to my thought process. But coming from her, the one of whom I worry about incessantly, was all the more real.
Her four words told me this: I need to realize there’s only certain things I can control and the rest I need to rest in the hands of God. Worry and stress that lead to depression and anxiety does not prevent whatever your worried about from happening.
Can a meteor fall from space, smash through my house and reduce us all to smithereens? Yes. Does it help to worry about it? No.
This was an example… I don’t worry about meteors smashing us to bits. I’m sure there are probably those out there that do.
DLG’s demeanor, occupation, marriage partner and even her fate were written long before the Earth was much more than a glimmer in the eye of God. I, unfortunately, have no control over this.
What I do have control of is this: LOVE. There is not a day that goes by where I don’t hug and kiss her and tell her I love her at least 100 times. I feel as though I’m especially called to do this. Love evolves into many other thing i.e. a responsibility to take care of yourself, take care of others and treat your fellow man as you wish to be treated.
Every day that goes by, she grows a little more independent. One day, A LOOOOOOOOOONG time from now, she’ll be completely independent from me and her mother and the one thing I’ll be able to control at that point is just loving her unconditionally, trusting that I raised her well… and letting go.
Sounds a little like Someone else doesn’t it?
I never knew love until I knew them