On Being Ollie's Daddy

Last week, on the night before Ollie's memorial, I couldn't sleep. I sat down with the laptop and began to put some thoughts on paper about what it was like being a dad and Ollie's dad in particular. Somehow, and I'm not really sure how, I made it through reading it at the service.

I had a lot of requests to post it and now almost a week later, I think I can do it. I hope you find it meaningful and that it sheds some light on our life with the little guy.

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Thoughts on being Ollie’s Daddy – August 7, 2009

Becoming a father is an interesting study in contrasts. My experience is that most men treat impending fatherhood with a mix of genuine excitement and a touch of wariness. I know I fell into that category. The wariness comes from two sources: 1) You instinctively know you are about to bring a being into your house that you think will compete with you for your wife’s affection (and is way WAY cuter) and 2) You are massively worried about screwing up.

The thing is – the first time you hold that little ball of warmth in your arms – every single worry and concern you might have had is gone – left right there in the birthing room. Now you are focused only on how you are going to provide the best life possible for this child and his beautiful mother.

The worries about making a mess of everything will come back – but you’ll find quickly that somehow, you manage to step right up and take care of each problem (with a little help from mommy and those wise and sage grandparents that have been there before).

So everything in your life is humming right along and all is good. Baby is growing by leaps and bounds and nursing like a champ and is clearly the cutest thing going in six counties. People are calling and emailing and dropping by “just to check in”. At the preschool, he’s two months old, only been there a week and already the teachers are wrapped around his tiny little pinky. Everyone he meets falls in love as he learns how to wield that big toothless grin like a battle axe of happiness.

Then a Mack truck drives through your living room and takes your life away. You noticed your child wasn’t physically developing quite like he should. You visit doctors and therapists, and then one day, while all alone, you figure out that your child is going to die. His beautiful mother is at work and you don’t want her to know yet, so you cry for 2 hours and sit rocking and hugging your little one railing against creation. Mommy comes home and you all 3 sit together holding each other and cry some more. A couple of weeks later, testing confirms your terrible suspicion and your life is upside down.

So now you have two choices: Give up and mope about, feeling awful (and you WILL do that at times – how can you not?) or get on with life and give your beautiful little son the absolute best and most comfortable life you and mommy can make for as long as you are going to have him.

So that’s what we did. That’s what our friends did. That’s what our family did and our nurses and doctors and EMTs.

Mommy and I lived for Oliver everyday. As time flew by, our little man was clearly getting weaker. Still, we awoke each day to see that smile and to see those eyes twinkle. Just one little Ollie grin was enough to make your day, a dozen grins were almost too much to bear, yet Ollie gave them constantly.

Life definitely became tough. It’s not right that you have to feed your child through a tube into his stomach and become proficient at medical techniques that no parent should even have heard of, much less ever expect to know – still that grin was there – a grin that extended from Ollie’s heart and shone from his entire face like a ray of happiness – that was enough to keep you going. Ollie was never angry and he was never sad. It’s like he knew that mommy and daddy needed help to get through this struggle. He couldn’t help physically, but if there was ever a person stronger in spirit, I’ve never met them in my time on this earth.

The world will be a little dimmer for all of us. We’ll have pictures, of course, but as powerful as they are, they cannot possibly do justice to the energy of a little boy that must have been an angel. We’ll make it though.

Being Ollie’s daddy was the best job in the world. And I miss him. I love you son.