A Lesson in Patience

I thought I understood what patience was before my daughter was born, especially when so much of my life had been defined by waiting.

Waiting for a bell to ring.

Waiting for my name to be called.

Waiting for the last customers to leave.

Waiting for my father's coma to end.

I genuinely believed that I had gained a greater sense of patience than most other people because of my experiences.

That was a stupid thing to think.

When I found out my partner was pregnant I learned what patience was all over again.

Waiting for a new passport.

Waiting for a diagnosis.

Waiting for surgery.

Waiting for my daughter to come home for the very first time.

My concept of patience was changing. There were so many times that I worried I didn't have enough. So many nights that I was certain the little I did have would slip through my fingers and lead to disaster.

Waiting for the next round of medication.

Waiting for doctors and nurses to speak to us in a language I barely understand.

Waiting for anything at all to happen on the training potty.

Waiting for her to fall asleep so that maybe I could as well.

I understand patience so much better now, mostly because I know that I'm still learning it. There are layers that haven't been peeled back yet. Tests of my will and empathy that I don't even realize are coming sooner than later.

And it hurts.

Not to think about the things that I'm going to eventually have to deal with as a father, but the ways in which I tested my own father's patience.

Waiting for rehearsals and concerts to end all days of the week.

Waiting for me to get caught back up in school.

Waiting for me to show up after disappearing to who knows where.

Waiting for me to finally walk out of the county jail after posting bail for the umpteenth time.

I genuinely believed that I had gained a greater sense of patience than most other people because of my experiences.

That was a stupid thing to think.

Looking back at what I've been through, the opportunities I was afforded, the ones that I threw away out of ignorance and audacity, it is painfully obvious that I was never going to understand patience until it was too late. That I will never be able to make up for all the hurt I caused, or the hearts I broke, or the time I stole. There's no "I'm sorry" when people are gone. There's just waiting.

Waiting for the next day of work.

Waiting for the next seemingly brilliant, ultimately disgraceful idea.

Waiting for the next moment of gut-wrenching clarity when it all definitely makes sense.

Waiting for it all to add up to a tangible difference.

The waiting hurts just as much as the revelations made along the way, of course, because the cost of waiting is what precious few moments we have. Time is a concept that some people say doesn't even exist, yet no one treats their time like it is worthless. And patience is merely the art of mitigating the pain of losing the one thing that can never be reclaimed under any circumstances.

Patience is merely the art of mitigating pain.

Waiting for a heart to stop for the last time.

Waiting for the ashes that are left of my father.

Waiting for someone to say my daughter's surgery was successful.

Waiting for anyone to promise that I would still be a father because of it.

Patience is merely the art of mitigating pain.

And fatherhood is a lesson in patience.

John Dodge writes a whole lot about comic books and pop culture over at CBR.com. He also writes about a bunch of other stuff here on Vocal. You can find him on social media on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. He also runs some pages here, here, and here that could use a little love from people who love out-of-context comic panels. Or anyone, really.