Happy Father's Day

This was a weekend of contradictions.  Saturday was spent at our house playing with a baby, and Sunday we were missing Julia.   Our friend's baby took a nap when he was over, and I held his sleeping body for over an hour.  His weight on my body reminded me of being pregnant, of the last time I felt close to a baby.  At times I closed my eyes and imagined I was holding Julia.  He has curly hair, and I ran my fingers through it, thinking of my daughter's curly hair-which I never got a chance to touch.  I was so thankful for my friend.  She let me hold her son and play with him, and do all the things that I will never get to do with Julia.  She asked my opinion on "mommy issues" and commented on how much he seemed to like me.  She treated me like a mom.

I think one of the hardest things about being around moms with babies is my ignorance.  I don't know what a 9 month old should be eating, or when they should start walking, or how long they should be sleeping for.  Towards the end of my pregnancy I bought the book "What to Expect in the First Year," but I only got to week 3.  And when I came home from the hospital, all baby books were gone.  

Up until now I have been grateful for the banishment of all things baby from our apartment.  But lately I have a desire to see all of Julia's stuff.    I had labeled all of her drawers, and I can still remember all of the clothes that I had put in them.  

Josh and I were walking to brunch today, and we were talking about having another baby.  Josh said, "I can't imagine having a baby that is not Julia."  When I think of all of the baby stuff, I think of it as her stuff.  And sometimes I feel angry at this not yet conceived child we keep talking about.  This child that will get to use her stroller and toys and clothes.  If I say things like this aloud, people dismiss me and say "Don't worry."  I hate that.  

Father's Day seemed to crash down on us without warning.  It was one of those days that just went on and on.  Josh's parents called to wish him a happy father's day, but neither one could get the words out.   I watched him check his email, and just hoped that one or two friends would remember him and connect it to today.  No one did.  It's not their fault, and if Julia were alive we wouldn't care if any one of our friends remembered us on this day.  But now everything is different.  Two friends called him in the afternoon to wish him a happy father's day, and my heart broke when I saw how much satisfaction he got from those calls.   I felt the same way on Mother's day.  It feels pathetic, like we are looking for ANY acknowledgement of our daughter, no matter how small.  But the little comments are the things we remember and treasure.  

We lit her candle tonight, as we do every Sunday.  Along with the usual poem we read (scroll down to the bottom of the page to see it) we added this one tonight:

It must be very difficult

To be a man in grief,

Since  "men don't cry" and "men are strong"

No tears can bring relief.

It must be very difficult

To stand up to the test

And field the calls and visitors

So she can get some rest

They always ask if she's all right

And what she's going through.

But seldom take his hand and ask,

"My friend, but how are you""

He hears her crying in the night

And thinks his heart will break.

He dries her tears and comforts her,

but "stays strong" for her sake.

It must be very difficult

To start each day anew

And try to be so very brave--

He lost his baby too.

Author Unknown