What’s happened over the last few days was a blur to me. I can only vaguely remember that somehow I managed to bring David home from hospital. We have been staying at home this entire week. Lucky that we really did stock up on our baby inventory.
Since David was born, my phone has been flooded with messages congratulating us on the arrival of the baby. Yes, we have announced it to everyone we know by posting on various social media outlets that we were going to have a C-section on that day. Of course, little did they know what happened afterwards.
Then there was my brilliant idea: to post that “Emily is in God’s hand” message on Facebook, in hopes that it would broadcast the tragic news to everyone that we know. I could understand there was a need to somehow let people know about what happened, but I hated this burden. Do people really care?
Obviously, that has backfired. For the more casual friends, they responded on Facebook with “Take care!” or “What happened?”. Seriously, it felt like they were just watching some random tragic news on TV, but given they knew us a little bit, they had the obligation to respond with something.
For the closer ones, such as my colleagues, they sent a few messages to my Whatsapp. Again, part condolences and part investigation. There is really no limit to human curiosity. And then my real friends managed to pick up the phone and call me. Of course I had no mood or time to pick up any calls.
And no matter how many condolences I received, it wasn’t going to change my life one single bit. I still needed to get on with my life, get busy starting the paper work and funeral planning for Emily, still taking care of David while consoling Emily’s parents. As much as I had lost my wife, they’d lost their precious daughter.
My parents insisted that they should take care of David for the time being. But I insisted on bringing David home. It wasn’t really to show that I could handle this tough situation, but really, taking care of David is the only reason I want to continue with my life right now. That would absolutely have been in Emily’s Will and Testament—had she gotten the chance to write one while on the operating table. ,
Finally I managed to convince them that David was going to be in good, safe hands, because I promised to post a picture of David on Facebook every day to prove it. I couldn’t help but also tag Emily to those photos as well. It would have been so different had Emily been here.
To my surprise, I have been stronger than I thought, and probably have handled the situation fairly well. Perhaps I don’t want David to see me vulnerable. He needs me. I even had the courage one night to print a black-and-white portrait of Emily and put it on the living room’s wall. In fact, I don’t recall that I cried at all.
Still, it’s tough to be a new father, let alone losing my wife at the same time. From feeding the baby, sterilising the bottles, to changing diapers every other hour, I literally didn’t sleep much the entire week. This was not what I’ve signed up for. I am supposed to be just like my friends: come home each day from work, play with the kids for a couple of hours, saying some half-hearted “I love you” while thinking about the dreadful meetings at work on the day, before sending them to bed.
However, it’s probably good that I’ve been busy. I really don’t need any spare time to think about things, because the second I’m idle, Emily would completely consume my mind.
So much is said about the unconditional love people have for their children. I have seenmany of my friends , turn themselves into these really caring fathers after having children, when their personalities are not even that caring to start off with. First, I don’t really trust them. I doubt if anyone can give so much love to their children when through all their lives, the word ‘love’ is practically foreign. Or perhaps it’s just that I don’t understand it yet.
Yes, I can appreciate a baby can be cute, and that can be deceiving for a little while. But having a child is a life-long thing and I am not sure if that cuteness is going to last forever. I’m sure even I was cute when I was a baby. Most of all, despite the fact that my son has inherited our DNA, I don’t really get to pick how he looks, what his personality or character will be. It’s similar to siblings. We are just assigned with them, and we are supposed to love each other because of that.
Yet my wife is different. I picked her and she picked me. Whether it turned out to be good or bad, we made the decision. She is the one who I trust enough to spend the rest of my life with. Or at least, until the point she was with me.
Today, I have decided I will bring David out. I have to face reality. There is only so long I can hide away. Perhaps more importantly, I am running out of formula.
As I step into the lift, I get a renewed sense of energy. I have finally picked myself up and started my journey back to reality, although it’s really just going down and getting some groceries.
All of a sudden, the lift stops. The light is off, and I am stuck in a pitch-black metal case, hanging far above ground, with David.
“What’s happening?”. I press the alarm button and start talking to the operation centre somewhere.
“Sorry sir, I think there is something wrong with the lift. Please don’t panic. We will get someone over right away.”
Panic?
Is this really going to make me panic? I am really a dead man walking with a simple mission to keep me going: to keep my son alive and well. I really couldn’t care less about anything else in life.
Fifteen minutes gone. There was still no one here to rescue us. I sat down on the floor – actually I have no idea why I stood for all that time. I could barely see David, but I could sense he was really, really calm. Perhaps he had even fallen asleep. To him, this might feel like he’s back to the womb again. Back to his mother. Back to somewhere that he’s safe and undisturbed.
As uncomfortable as this should feel, there is an unusual sense of serenity in here. In the strangest way, I feel safer too. Safer than outside, where I have to deal with reality. And the more I feel relax the more I can get a chance to reach to my inner self. I realise I don’t need to act strong all the time. At least not when David is not looking.
Finally, the tears start to fall.
