This is a blog post I was writting my first night in Maryland. The internet kept cutting out and loosing things, so I typed it on my computer. Later, when I had time, it was a little late to post. It meant something then, but it is not where I am now, and so—as to not confuse and over worry readers— I am posting it here instead of on my regular blog... for less traffic. Because I don't deal well with pitty, and because—like I said—it does not represent my current state.
3/25- The night after I first saw him
It's easy to be level headed when your on the plane. When your on your way, and you know you'll be there in a few hours. And it's not even bravery; it's simply a natural calm. You can even tell an inquiring stranger without so much as a wavering inflection.
But it's that mechanical rising and falling of a lung on oxygen "just in case," it's the tangle of wires monitoring the heart, the numerous IV drips, the catheter, the cold-cold-cold hand that doesn't so much as flinch. The thought of your poor mother looking over at her husband—having to funnel any panic into the practicalities of CPR. All that, it takes time to adjust to.
Daddy's are supposed to be invincible... and even when they are not, it's nice to have the luxury of pretending that they are.
And it takes a while for the calm to set in, and for the courage to ask the nurses stupid questions. But it comes, and you do, and it helps. A lot.
And I'm grateful for small things, like a heavily sleeping husband. 'Cause although he's the best hand holder and cuddler ever, sometimes you just need to sit on the floor in the middle of the night, and silently sob in private, because daddy's aren't invincible.
And daughters aren't androids.
