inspiration ; ' skuddsikker ' by trygve skaug
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HE WASN'T GOING TO LIE, David de Gea had done a lot of things he never thought he would. He had won the Premier League, he had played international matches for the Spanish national team, and most importantly — he had found the woman he wanted to grow old with. So, when she had come to him after a match, a match where the team had played magnificently, recieving rave reviews from football–critics all over the world, telling him she was pregnant, it was almost as if the world collapsed around David.
Not in a bad way; just in a way that made him feel like the most helpless man to ever walk the surface of the Earth. After all, David de Gea was not sure whether he was ready to become a father.
Juan had laughed when he saw the panicked look on David's face, claiming the goalkeeper had nothing to worry about. Though, it had to be said — the midfielder's words of reassuring came without any sort of experience in the field; the only child he had, was the large Rhodesian Ridgeback he shared with his girlfriend ( a breed of dog David had always found it amusing that the smaller Spaniard had chosen to buy a dog about the same size as himself ).
However, David had gritted his teeth and taken an extra lap around the training pitch one day, running through what father–hood would bring. He had never been negative towards becoming a father, quite frankly he had just been caught by surprise at the news. The Spanish goalkeeper was ready to do whatever it took to become the best father his unborn son or daughter could ever ask for.
The weeks went by quickly, and David felt lucky he was there for all the pregnancy ' milestones ' — though nothing had him as emotional as the ultrasound where he first saw the gender of his unborn child. He could not quite believe it; in fact, it took days for him to come to terms with the fact that his first born would be a little girl. His little princess.
From that moment, there was not a single doubt in David's mind. Trying to put words to his feelings, he went out and bought a journal. The goalkeeper had it hidden underneath the mattress on his side of the bed, and chose to write in it the mornings his girlfriend left for work before he left for training. However, he struggled. It was difficult putting words to your feelings, especially like this. Juan had a post–match blog, but it could never be compared to opening about your feelings when a child was brought into the world.
As days passed, the arrival of David's little princess got closer, the Spanish goalkeeper getting more nervous every day that passed. Regular visits to the hospital, revealed it would be a delievery with complications, and they advised the expecting couple to go for a c–section. David didn't quite understand what they were talking about; he had never been the strongest when it came to the medical terms.
The date for the c–section was set, more or less right on the due date from what the footballer had understood, and in some way it made David feel a little more comfortable; now, he wouldn't risk having to rush home because the water broke. The whole team noticed how David seemed a lot more relaxed, something that benefited everyone. Matches went a lot smoother, and though his off–pitch focus was directed at preparing the nursery for his little daughter, he had never achieved better results with the team. Win after win, and clean–sheet after clean–sheet.
David de Gea was the goalkeeper hero again.
However, when something has been this good for so long, it's almost to expect it will change, right? For David, the whole day is a blur in his memory. One of the biggest, greatest, most magnificent days in his life as an adult man, the day he became a father, was simply a blur; a void in his memory. It had started fairly normal; still a week until the c–section, and they had shared a cup of coffee before he went to training, swinging by Juan's house to pick him up on the way. Training started good — they had a match the following day, and Ole sent them out on the pitch for a light work–out session, not wanting to tire them out prior to the match. David got just about half an hour on the pitch, doing light drills with the rest of the goalkeepers, when Mark Dempsey, of all people, came jogging over, delievering urgent news to the Spaniard.
His girlfriend was in pregnant, and on her way to the hospital, and only minutes later, David found himself speeding through the streets of Manchester, hoping and praying he would not be stopped by any police. It even got to the point where he wasn't sure whether he had locked his car or not, as he rushed into the hospital, desperately trying to get the help needed in order to find the woman he loved with all his heart. Had she been rushed into an emergency c–section? Had she been forced into doing a natural labour, after having her water break and possibly being fully dialated as she reached the hospital?
David felt his frustration grow as no–one seemed to be able to point him in the right direction, leading to him pacing back and forth in the waiting room, attracting attention as people came to recognize the Spanish goalkeeper. After what felt like hours, a nurse approached him, bringing him to a quiet room, where another nurse stood, cradling a small baby — David's daughter. He was told his girlfriend was rushed to surgery, that they had been forced to do an emergency c–section due to the complications they feared from a natural birth, but even the c–section had brought complications and trouble. His daughter, however, was as healthy as ever, and a strong little girl.
He was shaking as he watched the nurse place her back in her bed; David de Gea could not quite believe he had become a father. It felt as though the entire world stopped around him, or at least as if he was alone, as he sank down in a chair next to his daughter, his chin resting on the side of the bed as he admired her. Minutes turned into hours, before a resignated surgeon entered the room, catching David's attention. In a quiet voice, he offered his condolences; the blood loss had been too significant, and she had not made it.
Somehow, it seemed as if David had accepted the inevitable already. He had accepted that the family that should go home as three, would be going home as two — and though he hated to admit it to anyone but himself, it was almost as if she had accepted it prior to everything going down.
David and his little daughter was left in a vacuum inside the hospital room as the surgeon once again left the room, leaving the new father alone with his daughter. Releasing a shaky sigh, the Spaniard turned back to the bad, carefully lifting the small body of his daughter into his arms, holding her close to his chest, humming as she stirred in her sleep. Being her father would be a lot of job — especially now that he was doing it alone, but he was refusing to give up. David was adamant he was going to see his daughter grow into a wonderful woman, even though he was to do it as a single father.
He gently caressed her head, leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead, softly humming as he sat down in the chair by the window. The small child was still sleeping against his chest, and David found himself swallowing the lump that had built up in his throat. For the first time since she had told him she was pregnant, now that he was holding his healthy, new–born daughter, he was able to put words to his feelings.
"One day you'll be a teenager, and even an adult, and I can only hope I can prepare you for that life in the best way possible. There will be days where you'll come home from school with scratches on your knees, and you will be bringing your closest friends home to play with the dog in the backyard. There will be days where you'll have your heart broken by a fool who doesn't know what love is — trust me when I say that. There will be days where you think I'm the most stupid human walking the Earth, and you will want to get up and leave — and I apologize, but that's just who I am. If I could, I would make you bulletproof; make sure nothing and no–one could ever hurt you with stupid words or actions. If I could, I'd make you bulletproof, in a hope that you one day can stand on a stage, or on a football–pitch, or behind the counter at a gas–station — quite frankly, I don't give a shit as long as you do whatever makes you happy, and I hope you can be proud of that. Because, my darling girl, you are my daughter, and I'm just your dad; and no matter what happens, that's all I'll ever be."