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Three months. Three months of nothing but endless crying, feeding, changing, and dressing. Rocking and softly speaking to her. Three months after the tragic loss of a wife who was beloved to his heart. Of course he needed to continue basic care for Mirabel. Death couldn’t stop the sands of the hourglass in life continuing for him and the child. The child that had taken her away. No he couldn’t think of her like that, but sometimes the pessimistic thoughts would take over his way of thinking and he couldn’t help but to think that maybe… Just maybe if they’d waited for family planning. He couldn’t blame a child though. That was not on her. There was nothing that could ever justify blaming the death of a mother on an infant; even he knew this fact in this baby blues mindset.
He’d do some playtime as was recommended by his sisters and brothers in law. He’d spent as much time with her as possible. Even telling some of the telenovela plots her mother and him would act out and improv when bored or just needed a good laugh. He’d try to laugh with her and read to her and even give her kisses to show love.
Nothing helped. He loved his daughter. Don’t get him wrong, he thought she was sweet. She really was. But something just felt empty. Like nothing was there. Nothing was helping him to feel a connection. She was his daughter but that was it. Just a biological next of kin. He didn’t feel a deep love that Félix and Agustín would constantly describe or any of the pride other fathers in the village bragged of feeling for their children.
“It’s the best feeling holding your child for the first time. You swell with pride.”
“Nothing is more satisfying than seeing them smile at you. And when they laugh, get ready.”
“You feel as if your life is complete, amigo. Everything makes sense.”
All of these things he’d been told he felt nothing close to. He can’t connect to Mirabel. He can’t bond with her. He doesn’t feel anything deep for her. What was wrong with him? Bruno was sure he was doing everything they said. He was sure he was following everyone’s advice. Why couldn’t he love her the way he should’ve? Why couldn’t he properly tell her he loved her? Why did he feel empty holding her in his arms? Why can’t he feel that swelling joy? That satisfaction? The completion?
And suddenly the child was crying. He wanted to cry too. Rocking her back and forth he cooed and whispered and offered a bottle. He tried everything to calm Mirabel. Everything just made him feel a creeping irritation. Like he wanted to run away from everything. Put her down and just walk away. But he couldn’t do that. That wasn’t what a good father does. But what did Bruno know of being a father? His father wasn’t even alive. Bruno was getting closer and closer to anger and he didn’t want to yell. But his scream was caged in the bars of his vocal chords as he continued to shush the baby.
Back and forth, bounce in threes. Back and forth, bounce in threes.
“Mirabel… It’s okay. You’re okay. Please mija, sleep. Mirabel please don’t cry, please? Mirabel I need you to sleep. I need you to be okay. Mija please. I’m begging you, please sleep… Please…” This seemed to go on for an hour. Maybe more? He couldn’t tell. The night was endless in the painful shrills of a crying infant’s wails in his ear. Aren’t they supposed to tire themselves to sleep?
Bruno was envious of Félix, Agustín, and his sisters. How did they have it so easy? What did he do wrong? They all just seemed to do it so easily. Just an hour ago Camilo was easily put to bed by his sister by a soothing rock and breastfeeding with a quick change of a nappy. If Bruno did that Mirabel would only cry harder. Bruno didn’t know how long it took. But eventually his rocking and shushing did the trick. And he was putting her in her little crib. She was so small in it, and even after swaddling her Bruno couldn’t do anything but pat her little head gently and walk away.
He loved her. But it was empty. Hollow, dark, an infinite abyss of nothingness and voids. No start. No middle. No end. He was drowning in the creases of apathy’s fabrics as he walked to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. Nothing he did was working to become closer to Mirabel. Bruno couldn’t hug her without meaning it. It was a lie. It was all a lie to him and he felt so much guilt. If only his wife were here still… She’d know what to do. He needed her. He needed to feel her arms around him and tell him it was okay.
But instead he had a tiny, screaming… thing to care for that looked so much like her. He couldn’t stand this. He couldn’t handle this. What was he even doing? His shoulders shook as he felt the sobs come up from his throat and escaped. He couldn’t handle this. He couldn’t-
“Mijo? Are you alright?” Sitting up, quickly wiping the tears from his face, Bruno looked up to see his mother in the doorway.
“I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll-”
“No. No Bruno, it’s okay. Please, let me sit with you. What’s the matter?” His mother, elegant and poised as always, settled next to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He pursed his lips into a tight line before sighing.
“I can’t… I feel like I’m… Not doing enough for Mirabel.” He confessed in a tone of regret. His mother only smiled softly and leaned in.
“Of course you're doing enough, Brunito. You’re such a good father to her. And such a strong one considering your circumstances-”
“No mamá. I don’t do enough for her emotionally. I’m not-... I can’t… Mamá I can’t look at her and feel that… I don’t love her. I love her of course but I don’t love her like I’m supposed to. It’s like whenever I hold her I can’t stand to look at her. She’s what took my wife away. But I can’t blame her for her mother's death. She’s not to blame at all. But whenever I look at her and she smiles at me? It’s like I feel a cold hollow… emotion. It’s like a deep resentment towards her. I love her. I do, but I don’t love her like Félix or Agustín or even Pepa and Julieta towards the girls and Camilo. I love mis sobrinos preciosos. Of course I do. I love them. But Mirabel? I can’t- I can’t look at her without wanting to give her off to someone and leaving. And I feel horrible. Nothing is working and I can’t… I can’t stand this.”
Bruno felt regret the moment the last word left his lips. He couldn’t believe he just admitted to not loving his daughter. To his own mother whose love for them combined with their father’s created the Encanto. But it was the truth. And sometimes the truth hurts the most. Mirabel wasn’t getting the father she needed. She was getting a husk of a man with no emotion and nothing but grief and anger towards the loss of his wife.
And here was his mother who lost her husband and still loved her children. What was wrong with Bruno? Bruno was a selfish horrible man. That’s all that he could see himself as. A horrible selfish man and an even worse father. And over what? Losing his wife? What a pathetic excuse that Bruno could ever muster, but it was his truth. Nothing mattered anymore since his wife died. Not even Mirabel. And that made him feel like a monster.
“I know, Bruno.” Looking up at his mother, he felt his breath hitch as he met her eyes. Her mouth was in a deep thin frown with her brows furrowed. He sniffed and took another sip of his water before continuing the conversation.
“You know?”
“... Out of experience I can say that I’ve been in your place. It took me until you three started saying your first words to bond with any of you. It's not something that makes you a terrible father. But my advice?” She placed a hand gently on his own in comfort. “Don’t force a feeling you can’t bring yourself to feel. It’s only going to make it worse, Mijo. However don’t give up on her. Please. She’ll make you proud. You’ll feel it eventually. I just want you to be happy. I want her to be happy. But in order to do that, you have to give it time. You can't force a bond to appear overnight. Do you understand?" Bruno sat tapping his fingers against the glass of his half empty water and swallowed tightly as his eyes wandered to a pattern in the table's wood.
If he wanted to bond with Mirabel, he had to give it time. He supposed that made sense. And he really did want to bond with the little girl. He wanted to feel what Agustín and Félix felt. He wanted that look of pure love Julieta had when Isabela was Mirabel's age. He wanted that smile that Pepa wore when Camilo looked up at her and reached out to her face. He wanted to feel all that with his daughter. But he needed time. Nodding, Bruno looked up at his mother and sighed.
"I understand."