Of Dying and Gazing
Day 22 – A baby’s connection to its father is much weaker than it is to its mother. All acts of “engrossment” aside (each time my mind rolls that word around in my head – “the act of a father connecting with his child”, I shudder at how deadly scientific it makes the act of holding and talking to my child), there is simply no way that a man can come close to the same emotional ties to his child as a woman. At least, that’s my take on Day 22 of Lian’s life.
Why do I raise this? Well, I suppose it’s a morbid thought that came to mind tonight – but I was just thinking what would happen if we lost Lian just as quickly as we got her. What if she passed away from some horrible disease, or … god forbid … one of us were to harm her by accident? Today, for example, Lian happened to roll off the bed onto the ground when Michelle had her back turned. Our bed is just a mattress on the ground, but the first time your baby falls is a traumatic moment, nonetheless.
So what if we were to lose Lian, I asked Michelle tonight, wondering what we would do in the face of such a calamity. I received silent tears in response. Ironically, she had been thinking that earlier as well. For a mother, it must be a heart-wrenching emotional roller-coaster even to envision this ever happening. But for us as men, I don’t think we can yet feel the depths of emotion that our partners do until we begin to feel the type of attachment that the mother feels to her child.
For me, that moment will probably come once I feel that little Lian actually recognizes me, reaches out for me, calls my name. So far, she is still just a beautiful bundle of either peaceful sleep, or of wakeful curiosity or wailing noise. There is no recognition in her gestures, in her motions. There is no remembrance in her eyes, nor meaning or even reason to her cries. There is just Lian – a 20-inch baby. Baby is actually a very a-propos term for a child. It’s de-gendered, faceless and nameless, and doesn’t evoke anything but raw tenderness and warmth. All of that, yes, I agree. Lian evokes that and more. But I guess I’m saying in a very morbid way that I long to get to the stage where she can recognize who her mother and father are, where she can reach out and touch us, where she can look up and smile at us.
Essentially, I’m one selfish father who just wants his little girl to distinguish him from everyone else I suppose. But actually it goes much further than that. What I’m craving is the sense of attachment that I see Michelle has for Lian. I want to feel that utterly powerful emotion – that unconditional love. That’s what it is – as a father, I haven’t experienced it!
Not that it’s some mystical event that I’m eagerly awaiting to hit me one day. No. It’s more like a feeling I have that I would like to share what Michelle feels for Lian. I would like to feel that incredibly powerful sense of unquestioned love and devotion. When I look at her gazing into the eyes of her little girl, there is nothing I’ve ever seen that is as powerful, as silencing, as inspiring. And somehow, the power of that gaze is reflected in the look that Lian gives back to her mother. It is beautiful.
Why do I raise this? Well, I suppose it’s a morbid thought that came to mind tonight – but I was just thinking what would happen if we lost Lian just as quickly as we got her. What if she passed away from some horrible disease, or … god forbid … one of us were to harm her by accident? Today, for example, Lian happened to roll off the bed onto the ground when Michelle had her back turned. Our bed is just a mattress on the ground, but the first time your baby falls is a traumatic moment, nonetheless.
So what if we were to lose Lian, I asked Michelle tonight, wondering what we would do in the face of such a calamity. I received silent tears in response. Ironically, she had been thinking that earlier as well. For a mother, it must be a heart-wrenching emotional roller-coaster even to envision this ever happening. But for us as men, I don’t think we can yet feel the depths of emotion that our partners do until we begin to feel the type of attachment that the mother feels to her child.
For me, that moment will probably come once I feel that little Lian actually recognizes me, reaches out for me, calls my name. So far, she is still just a beautiful bundle of either peaceful sleep, or of wakeful curiosity or wailing noise. There is no recognition in her gestures, in her motions. There is no remembrance in her eyes, nor meaning or even reason to her cries. There is just Lian – a 20-inch baby. Baby is actually a very a-propos term for a child. It’s de-gendered, faceless and nameless, and doesn’t evoke anything but raw tenderness and warmth. All of that, yes, I agree. Lian evokes that and more. But I guess I’m saying in a very morbid way that I long to get to the stage where she can recognize who her mother and father are, where she can reach out and touch us, where she can look up and smile at us.
Essentially, I’m one selfish father who just wants his little girl to distinguish him from everyone else I suppose. But actually it goes much further than that. What I’m craving is the sense of attachment that I see Michelle has for Lian. I want to feel that utterly powerful emotion – that unconditional love. That’s what it is – as a father, I haven’t experienced it!
Not that it’s some mystical event that I’m eagerly awaiting to hit me one day. No. It’s more like a feeling I have that I would like to share what Michelle feels for Lian. I would like to feel that incredibly powerful sense of unquestioned love and devotion. When I look at her gazing into the eyes of her little girl, there is nothing I’ve ever seen that is as powerful, as silencing, as inspiring. And somehow, the power of that gaze is reflected in the look that Lian gives back to her mother. It is beautiful.
posted by Note Buyer at 12:47 AM
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