December 11, 2024
Pippen
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
“Hello, Dante. Hello, Dani. I’m so happy to see you both,” the pretty therapist, Dr. Melissa Jefferson said, smiling at Danika.
The woman was tough and very clear on how we should proceed with Danika. She insisted we hide nothing from our little girl. That she needed to see us express everything we were thinking and feeling. It didn’t matter if we were happy, sad, or angry. Naming our emotions and even expressing them was an important step to our daughter’s development. Danika hadn’t learned how to express her emotions yet, and while experiencing them was natural, it would be more confusing for her to still not understand them at her age.
“Danny isn’t joining us today?”
“No, there was an emergency, and he had to go to New York.”
“How long will he be gone?” she asked.
I saw the look of disappointment in her eyes. I was upset too, but there was nothing I could do about it. Danny’s job demanded a lot from him, and sometimes, his job took him away. Danny didn’t like it any more than I did, but that was life. I knew that and accepted it and as much as I hated it for her, Danika would need to understand that, too.
“I’m not sure.”
“Alright, let’s get started. How is Dani adjusting to Dante being gone?”
“She cried all morning.” I frowned, holding my little girl tighter. It had been a terrible morning. The second she knew Danny was gone, I could see the hurt in her eyes. She missed him terribly and wasn’t happy to be alone with me. I understood what she felt and even tried talking to her about it, but nothing I said seemed to ease her melancholy. My little girl was just as smitten with Danny as I was. He was the center of our world and with him gone, we both felt adrift with no direction.
“Would you like to walk her to the play area and let her choose? Then we can talk about what you are going through.”
“I’d like to stay with her,” I whispered, holding her tighter. Somehow, I felt as long as she was with me, I wouldn’t miss Danny as much.
Stupid, I know, but it was how I felt.
“Dante, I’d like to talk to you. It would be best if Dani was given the option to play alone.”
I looked down at my daughter who looked longingly at the toys about the room. With a sigh, I set her down on her feet and she looked up at me. Reluctantly, I nodded, and she slowly made her way to the kitchen.
“I know this is hard, but that right there was a huge milestone.”
“How?” I asked, confused.
“Let’s sit.”
Walking together over to the couch, I sat down while Dr. Jefferson took the chair.
I never took my eyes off my daughter. I couldn’t.
She was my responsibility.
Mine to protect.
“Dani has made so much progress it is incredible. Her connection to Danny is remarkable and the fact that she has accepted you to take up his role in her security, when he was called away, is a great response on her part.”
I smirked at that because I wasn’t sure if it was because of lack of options or what. All I knew was my little girl wasn’t happy right now.
“Children are resilient, but what she has been through or better yet not been through has shaped her in a way most people don’t experience until they are much older. It makes it harder for them to even form attachments much less learn to love and trust. It is clear Dani trusts you very much. And for a child in her situation, trust is much more powerful than love. Love is easy for children. They tend to love anyone that is nice to them. Not truly understanding the difference between love and like. But trust is hard. For two years, Dani has only been able to trust that she would be fed and changed. Without having any answers to what her life was like for the first two years, it is hard to know if she had a schedule for her feedings or changings. We don’t know if she cried in hunger or fear. All we know is that she was given the bare minimum of care to keep her alive.”
The tears rolled down my cheeks as she recounted the life my little girl lived before she was rescued. No child should ever have to endure that shit, and I vowed Danika never would again.
Dr. Jefferson stood from her chair, setting down the tablet she kept notes on and grabbing the box of tissues as she sat on the couch next to me. Handing me the tissues, she gently reminded me, “This wasn’t your fault. Your natural inclination is to blame yourself. But I want to remind you that you are not to blame. You had no way of knowing you were a father. And once you did, you immediately stepped up not only to rescue your daughter but to be her father. There are many people out there that would have walked away without a care.”
“Like my own parents,” I mumbled.
