I used to believe that Santa Claus was real. One night out of every year I’d lay in bed, struggling to stay awake, waiting with bated breath to hear those hooves on my roof. I must have fallen asleep too early, I’d reason the next morning.
I used to believe in the Tooth Fairy. I imagined her looking like the Guardian Angel in a picture hanging on my bedroom wall – bathed in a soft glow which turned her blonde hair nearly white, robes billowing softly around her as she moved noiselessly toward my sleeping form. No matter that her hands were clumsy and probably belonged to my Mom. I was fully committed to this image.
I used to believe there was a bad guy under my bed, a monster in the closet and that dead people would break out of their graves at night. Yeah. I was only slightly disturbed.
And I believed that my parents were invincible. All-wise, all-knowing and in possession of super powers. Don’t we all believe that to some extent when we’re children?
Of course I grew up and a lot of those old beliefs were outgrown, like so many pairs of sneakers. Some were easy to let go, some struck a death-blow to my innocence.
But it’s taken the longest to let go of the one about my parents. No matter that I know they were younger when I was born than I am today (I was such an idiot when I was 22!), I need to believe that they had it all together and were truly as wise as I perceived them. I want to believe that they’ll always be here for me, though in my grown-up heart I know all too well the truth of their mortality.
Lately I’ve had that reality driven home for me. I stood there last night in my Dad’s hospital room as his nurses tended to him. A coughing fit left him nearly choking and he needed the tube that went down his throat suctioned, along with the inside of his mouth.
It must have hurt. Tears spilled onto his sunken, unshaved cheeks. I turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears on my own face. I knew that seeing his pain reflected there wouldn’t help him.
My gaze fell on a series of photos on the wall. There’s one of him sitting in his uniform with other cops and administrative personnel from his office. He looks so healthy there, robust, with that mile-wide smile that runs in his family.
This man who served in the Naval Reserve for 31 years and was retired a Master Chief. Who served in the Middle East post-9/11. Who fulfilled his dream of becoming a cop at the age of 36 and still ran circles around men little more than half his age during physical tests. He beat them all.
Then there was the man whose reflection I could see in the glass covering that picture. The man being adjusted in bed by nurses, tears now gone, staring straight ahead. So thin, with a pallor to his skin that 8 weeks in a hospital will give a person.
I would say I wish I knew what he was thinking, but I already know.
And it kills me inside.
And I can’t help him.
The man who comes running to my side at the slightest hint of trouble. With whom a phone conversation can’t go by without him asking if I’m okay and if I need anything.
I know that if I were in that position, his presence would comfort me because I’d still have that childish belief in the deepest corner of my heart that he’d make things better.
Just like I know that once he’s extubated and can speak again, one of his first questions for me will be about my writing.
And I will tell him that yes, I’ve been writing. Though whether I’ll tell him he’s the subject is still up for debate.
What’s not up for debate is that he’ll pull through this illness, will battle his way through rehab faster than anyone ever has, and will go right back to living.
I have to believe that. Even though I no longer believe he’s invincible, I have to believe that.
This post really brought tears to my eyes. I agree that at some point, we all think our parents are invincible. And, it truly is hard to see when they suffer.
It’s hard to remember that they’re just human, too. It doesn’t seem right sometimes.
The most beautiful way to describe your feelings I have ever seen. I have never been so proud. I know now that whatever it is that you have in you to be able to write like this, your feelings, your thoughts, and the way you express them comes from him. Almost all of the good you have in you comes from him. I’m proud to call you my daughter.
I’m so sad to hear that your father is ill. Let me tell you that I completely empathize with what you are going through. My husband was diagnosed with a rare cancer in October of last year, and for over a month we weren’t sure what his condition would be after the surgery to remove the Nerf football-sized tumor from his abdomen. Or truthfully, whether he would make it at all. Many nights I spent by his bedside in the hospital, my hand in his, but facing the wall so he couldn’t see me cry. I will be sending you positive thoughts, sunshine, and strength. Hang in there. XOXO
Oh my gosh, I had no idea you guys went through that! I can’t imagine. I only went through 2 weeks in the hospital with Rob and that was more than enough – and it certainly wasn’t so serious. I’m sure you showed incredible strength for him.
Thank you for your support, my friend.
First of all this is stunning and the judges had better recognize that.
Secondly, your love for your dad, your beautiful words,your believing in him…it is magical. Thank you for sharing this part of you.
Oh, thank you – you’re really too kind. Thank YOU for your support and sweetness.
2011 has been a long, hard for you. I believe it will get better. I have to.
Love you.
Love YOU. Thank you for being there for me through it all. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell you how much you’ve meant to me.
Oh Jen, I am so sorry,c so saddened by how ill your dad is and how that is shaking the belief you hold. I will beleieve with you, I will be here if you need to talk or vent or just be quiet and in your thoughts, you won’t have to be alone doing it.
This was so beautiful. Such a gorgeous piece..about such a heartbreaking thing. Xo
Thank you, sweetie. Thank you always. xo
So sad and I feel for you. I just lost my grandparents within two months of each other and it makes me realize that my parents aren’t invincible. But I hope I look that way to my kids, even though I don’t have it all together.
Such a sad story – but great writing.
Thanks for sharing. It has really made me think about a lot of things.
I think most if not all kids see their parents as all-knowing, at least up to a certain age before they, you know, become geniuses who can’t be told anything.
Thank you for your kindness.
Oh, Jen, this made me cry! REALLY good job on the entry. You really put your heart and soul into it. Great work.
Thank you! That means a tremendous lot to me, your kindness is much appreciated.
Oh Jen, so sorry about your dad. This hits a little close to home right now, as my husband was just in the hospital for 10 days. I haven’t written about it yet, I’m not sure I’m ready. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever had to endure. I hope your dad heals soon!! BIG hugs XO
Oh my gosh, I had no idea! If you do want to talk, let me know – but I understand if you don’t, especially since it’s still fresh. I remember when Rob had pertussis, and he had a coughing fit that was so hard, it actually made him go into a seizure-like incident while at my apartment. I thought he was dying – not breathing, staring into space, convulsing. It was horrifying. He had many of those incidents throughout his 2 weeks in the hospital, for sure. It was a terrible experience. And it took me a long time to even want to go into it. So it may take you a long time, too. Again, let me know if you need anything. Thank you for your kind words! HUG BACK!
I’m sitting here crying my eyes out right now. Accepting that our parents aren’t invincible is the hardest thing we have to do. I still think I’m in denial over it.
This piece broke my heart into a million little pieces. He’ll pull through. He’ll fight and continue living his life. It’s been a hard year for you, I know. If there’s anything I can do, or anything you need, I’m here. Always.
Oh, sweetie. Thank you a million times over. Just knowing you’re there means the world.
Dear Mrs.B, I’m so, so sorry about your father. I could only imagine what these past eight weeks have been for him and all his loved ones. I really hope that he gets well soon.
I think for me, one of the things I hate the most about growing up and becoming older, more mature… is that I no longer believe that my parents are invincible. Because by realizing that, I could no longer feel completely safe and taken care of, as I felt when I was a child. I no longer see the world through the innocence of a child’s eyes.
Please know that any time you need someone to talk (or just write) to, I am here. Many hugs and much love,
Sweaty
Yes – that innocence is gone, and it sucks. To put it bluntly and not too poetically.
Thank you for just being there. Love, love, love to you, my lovely friend.
Aw, this is making me tear up b/c it hits a little close to home. My own grandpa is going through something like this, and as a kid, I always believed he was invicible, too, just like my parents. It’s hard to learn otherwise. Sending hugs your way and prayers…
Thanks, doll! That means so much!
Sending prayers for him! And for you. xo
Thank you sweetie.
This is tough. My thoughts are with you. I hope you continue to believe and find strength in little moments and big memories.
Thank you soooo much!
This is a beautiful ode to your father. I love that you tied this all up with belief- very poignant.
I’m so very sorry that he’s been sick.
Thank you Galit – for your support and sympathy.
[...] “I Need To Believe” at The Misadventures of Mrs. B [...]
I missed this post last week, I hope your dad is doing better. I’ll be thinking of you and sending prayers.
Both of my parents are gone now. It was so hard to see them age and grow farther from us.
I read this post with a knot in my throat because I could so easily put myself in your shoes and my own father in that hospital bed. Not because he’s ill, but simply because he’s aging. And I just find myself thinking more and more about he and my mom getting older and more frail. It’s hard to imagine now, as active and alert as they both still are now, in their early 60′s, but I know the day will eventually come when they’re neither of those things. How long will it be – 10 years? 20? 30? My mom’s mom died when she was just 78, but but her father lived to the age of 96. Will I be so lucky as to have both of them around that long? I hope so – I really can’t imagine a world without my parents in it.
I’m so sorry your father is sick. How’s he doing?
Oh man. I just read this and am sobbing. Such a moving piece.
For some harsh reason the human mind, or at least mine, never forgets what they have seen and been through, try as we might. It’s terrifying to see someone who has always been there, and in our minds should always bee there, in such a fragile state. My year ago my husband was seriously hurt and in the hospital and there was nothing at all I could do but wait. I was the worst time of my life. I”m not an outwardly emotional person but this sparked a few tears, I’m so sorry you both have to experience this.
This is an amazing post Jenn!
Jen, your love and talent is just another example of your mom & dad’s great job at raising you and your sister and brothers! You are all in my prayers – every day! Just wait until you can read your dad this beautiful essay!
[...] you have a minute…over a week ago I shared a piece called “I Need to Believe“, which focused on how even though as I’ve grown up and have had to let go of certain [...]
This piece was so moving! I recognized it in my own experience with my Dad.
[...] and today we remember him. Jen cherished her father and his memory will live on forever, through her writing and her memories of [...]
I am so sorry Mrs B. Your tribute to your much-loved father is beautiful. And the most important thing is true – you did believe. And that was enough. It was more than enough. And if his first question would have been to ask about your writing, then I’d have to say that he must have been very proud of you too. I’m so sorry to hear about his passing. You have had and loved a wonderful daddy, and it is that lifetime relationship that you will treasure always xxxx
[...] you have a minute…over a week ago I shared a piece called “I Need to Believe“, which focused on how even though as I’ve grown up and have had to let go of certain [...]