What About The Scars That Don't Heal?
Maybe There's Something to Gain From Our Forever Wounds...
Dear Rhodie,
10 years before the tumor in my brain grew big enough to seize my body, I took a Jack Daniel's bottle to the head.
In the exact same spot where that tumor would eventually grow, I was jumped from behind by a group of drunk boys walking down the dark street where I lived in Bondi Beach. I’ll never forget yelling ‘are you joking?!’ as they ran off. I couldn’t even comprehend what was happening.
10 years before that I was chucking my body around Boston on a skateboard, laughing with every fall, my 13 year old knees dripping blood across my shorts, socks and the asphalt below.
5 years before that I was in a sled riding backwards down a ski slope with a broken leg. Your grandpa tried to help me ski the rest of the way down but it hurt so much he called ski patrol to bring the sled.
I see you getting more confidence on the stairs.
Dropping down bigger and bigger ledges, climbing up taller ladders... Sometimes you fall on your face and I'm too slow or far away to stop you from hitting the ground. You usually get right up and keep running.
Recently your heavy head bonked the side of the bathtub and you cried, partially in pain and partially in shock. 'How could this happen?' Your face exclaimed. Later on I noticed a little black and blue mark where your head collided with the tub.
I still have scars from my skateboard knees. The brain surgery staples erased the stitch marks from the Jack Daniel's bottle but I’ll never forget that night in Sydney. The broken leg left no physical trace, just a tiny cast in my old bedroom closet signed by all the important characters from an early 90s trip to Disney World.
Your natural resilience is amazing.
Most of your scratches and scabs will heal and you'll forget them as quickly as they came. I've forgotten most of mine.
My scars born from violence, lost trust and dis-ease don’t seem to be going anywhere. They feel impossible to forget no matter how much I want them gone. I could have never prepared for such deep scars, they remain as personal betrayals.
I don't get angry much, but if I'm being honest, I'm furious about these unwelcome markings. They fester inside and outside my body and sometimes they control my life. I don't know what to do with them. What purpose do they serve? What can they teach me about love? About being a better dad? A better human?
I can't foretell what scars will remain with you.
What I can do is try to help you relish your fearless days, find gratitude for your body's ability to heal and get curious about what your wounds can teach you.
Here's a few things I've learned from mine...
Grab mom or dad's hand and pump your brakes when the path is steep.
Walk away when you feel unsafe.
Don't go down a dark path at night alone.
When you're not sure, sleep on it.
Wear a helmet.
Heal by doing the things that truly feel good in your soul.
I know you watch me wrestle with my fears and frustrations of dis-ease, of getting older, of my body breaking down, even though that’s what it's supposed to do. Despite it all, it’s important that you know how grateful I am to be alive. I love this precious, beautiful life with you and your mom and our extended families.
I love that I get to be in this imperfect body, whether it’s for another few months, few years or few decades. Your mom and I (and my doc) are cautiously optimistic that we’ll get to decades.
For now you can count on me to kiss the boo boos, to hold your hand as you go up the big steps, to carry you into the water and, from the safety of our front yard, to watch the big, loud trash trucks go by.
Love,
Dad(e)