That last sentence keeps popping into my head more and more often—right after I’ve been angry with him, or even in the middle of a happy moment together.
That sentence hides a lot of fear for me. I’ll be honest: fear has been both a guide and a mental block my whole life. I prefer certainties over risks. I think it over countless times before doing something I’ve never done before. And then, 9 times out of 10, I don’t do it.
I don’t get pricked by the thorns, but I don’t pick the fruit from the bush either.
A while ago, we were asked to make a video as a family about the impact of Milan’s illness. It was published today, and I watched it at my leisure.
What struck me: Milan talks with great panache about what he’s been through and how it affects him. He doesn’t mention any problems. He does talk about challenges, but in the same breath, he says he actually enjoys them. And he gets a lot out of it, so yeah, that’s great, right?
Then there’s me: my story about my son’s resilience is filled with wonder and pride. That immense tension is evident in every word I say.
Fear should be the last thing to hold him back. He doesn’t deserve that after all that misery. Bring it on, world—I’m ready for you! And yet, sometimes holding back for a moment because you’re unsure gives me, as a father, a certain sense of peace. You’re different, son—act accordingly. Imagine if….
Today we’re at Efteling. Milan didn’t dare go on a ride, but he did want to. I talked to my wife about it. I said it’s not up to us to push him. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to. My wife feels completely differently. No, it’s actually up to us to help him get past that hurdle. Otherwise, it’ll just get harder and harder.
She was right. Milan left—and then left again. I was left behind, feeling jealous.
Afterward, I asked Milan how he managed to get over his fear. He said, “Dad, the worst thing that could happen is that I’d die, so yeah…” My little Buddha has spoken. He’s certainly not dead. Despite everything. Maybe I’ll go along next time after all.
