Father to Vivian

My wife and I learned during Holy Week that our daughter in the womb has a fatal condition called anencephaly; since then we have struggled to share with Vivian the little bit of life she has. My wife has done what she can to stay healthy, exercise, and eat well. She’s made our daughter birthday gifts to present to her at her hoped for day of birth. She’s felt her roll and kick in the womb, savoring those precious gifts from Vivian.

Prior to this experience, when pondering the meaning of fatherhood, I would have thought of showing my children affection, forming their character, teaching them their parts of speech, instructing them in the faith, or playing games of all sorts. I have been able to do these things and more with my son. My daughter will not likely have the opportunity to see me smile at her, hear my words of affection, or feel me holding her. Anencephaly doesn’t generally allow for such sensations.

I have come to the conclusion that what it means to be a father to Vivian is this: I am there with her, suffering with her, even if she cannot know me. Is this experience of fatherhood in any way akin to the fatherhood of God, who loves and weeps for his children? God doesn’t always get what he wants. He is our loving Father, not a cosmic engineer who prevents all disasters or fixes all breakdowns in the system. We certainly can’t fix our daughter’s condition. Nor could we have prevented it. It happened as many sad events happen. I love her and suffer with her, and therefore I am a father to her. I pray for the grace to be a good one.