It’s funny how sometimes it takes awhile to realize what is the cause of increased fear. The sometimes, was my gift this past weekend…
My daughter Annie, who lives in Los Angeles, was taking a wine tasting birthday trip for her best friend, Tracy, who was celebrating her second 39th birthday.
They had done it right, renting a vehicle that would hold some twenty people and was driven by a non-wine tasting person. Like I said, they had done it the right way, the safe way.
But, how would Annie get home from Tracys? I wondered to myself . . . and the impending doom grew.
Knowing it always made me feel better to talk to someone else, I refused to call my son, Jason, because he would just tell me she will be fine. . .and he would be right. . . .and I would feel better. But, I didn’t want to bother him and most likely didn’t want him to know how crazy I was.
I sure couldn’t call Annie, after all she’s a woman who is in charge of her life and doesn’t need an over protective father.
I know I am NOT in charge of my daughter, or anything else, but when the impending doom is in full swing, I suffer. I know I have unwittingly given the damn impending doom to Annie, and that hurts me. . .badly.
By Saturday night I was a mess and couldn’t stop thinking the worst would happen if Annie dared to attempt to drive home after a wine tasting journey. I told myself trust God, he is in charge, but I went deeper into fear. How could I trust some one or some thing I believed in, but no one alive has ever seen.
I refused to call Annie because my struggle with this negativity made her angry. . .and it sure as hell triggered her struggle with impending doom, but I hadn’t thought about that until now.
Then it happened.
I realized that when Brannon and I went wine tasting… I went wild. Drank a lot, smoked dope, drank some more.
I thought about all the times I drove drunk, and by the grace of God wasn’t stopped by police.
It was then I realized that Annie was not Jerry. That she is a smart woman. I was feeding my impending doom and fear by projecting that my daughter was acting like I did . . . and that was my gift.
Annie is not Jerry.
It was my shame driving me. Shame for the way I had acted. Shame on my shame.
That truism took 30 years of sobriety to finally surface.