Ben’s Musings

I went for a cruise today on my bike.

I rode around Alexandra Park and talked to God about how I am feeling about Amy. I feel so broken over her death. I love her more than I knew I could love, and want to father and care for her. It wrenches my heart to know I can’t actually be her Daddy.

Tuesday was the 1 month anniversary of her stillbirth. During the evening I walked into the kitchen and had a sense that someone was behind me. I turned round to see no-one, but immediately wished it could have been Amy, toddling round the chair, seeing me and grinning, then toddling faster to come and have a cuddle. I started crying, sat down and continued crying. I imagined her coming down the stairs at different stages of her life, and it hit home again that I’ll never see her grow up into a beautiful girl, and a holy woman.

It was good to cry. I cried a few times in the first 2 weeks, but not since. I don’t like the way I am grieving. Most of the time I feel quite detached from the situation, but still sad, as though it was someone else’s baby who died. I also feel very sad for Mary-Lou as though it was her baby that died, and nothing to do with me.

Mary-Lou has cried inconsolably at least once a day since Amy was stillborn. I wish I felt Amy’s loss as intensely as Mary-Lou, I wish I could cry each day. I wish my grieving was really intense over these first few weeks, then I reckon it would be easier from then on.

The books and websites we have read suggest that fathers bond with their children after they are born and the dad can hold and see his baby. Mothers bond much more while the baby is in the womb since they are with them 24 hours a day and can feel every kick and hiccup. It really hurts that I will never know Amy as much as Mary-Lou does. I couldn’t wait to meet her and get to know her, and I hoped that we would have had “things” together, just her and me, like finding the same thing funny, and Mary-Lou not knowing why. But I will never have that, and I will never know Amy as much as Mary-Lou.

But on Tuesday it hit home again, that Amy was my daughter, and that my love for her, and all the sacrifices I was prepared to make for her, will never be actioned in the ways I wanted.

The last few weeks have been very odd emotionally. Like I have said, I mostly feel detached from the situation, but every now and then, I will become sad about it all again, but not as intensely as on Tuesday. Mary-Lou and I have been taking each day as it comes, actually each hour as it comes. We have rarely got through a whole film because our moods change so often. At other times, I just don’t know what mood I’m in, or what I want to do, like this morning. I was umm-ing and ah-ing about whether I wanted to go for a cruise, and if I did, where I wanted to go.

While cruising around Platt Fields, I also told God how afraid I am of coming close to Him. To know that my Father has such wonderful healing and comfort for me - for free - reminds me that I just don’t deserve any of it. The knowledge of my unworthiness of His gifts breaks me even more. I know that the extent of my shattered heart will be revealed in His light, as all things are, and I fear that it will hurt to see it…hurt lots.

Yet I know it will be good to come near to Him. I have had this fear of intimacy with Him many times before, and the few times I have drawn close, despite the fear, have been some of the most awesome times with Him I have known.

After Alexandra park, I cruised all the way down Brantingham Road because it looked like it went on for miles and I wanted to know where it led. On the way, I saw a dad and his daughter riding their bikes together. The girl was about 4 years old riding a pink bike with a purple backpack and pink helmet. Her dad made sure he stayed on the road side of her, and they were chatting together fervently.

On the way back, I saw them again and realised that they weren’t cycling to get anywhere, they were just out cycling round together. I imagined that the girl just wanted to ride her bike, and asked her dad if she could. I remembered that I would have had to teach Amy to cycle since Mary-Lou can’t ride a bike. I wished for those times with Amy and realised that it was a beautiful picture of God and us.