Is there no end to the days that highlight the loss of my babies? It's like a big fucking neon marker on the calender, "Today, remember your babies are dead." "Today, remember you should be a Mom to more than one." "Today, remember that they are gone, forever." "Today, let's highlight your gaping wound." "Today, remember where you were last year and how your baby girl was smashing her skull into your pubic bone." "Today, remember that the man you love has been crushed too."
Screw you Calender Makers.
Father's Day is tomorrow. It's easy for me to just gloss over my husband's pain, the fact that he is shattered too. He is just so quiet in his pain while I rant and rave and scream mine to the world (odd how grief does this. I'd never have exposed this much of my pain to anyone before this....). But as this stupid day looms closer, I can feel him shutting down. He gets quieter every day. He doesn't smile as much. I can see the joy draining from him. And I can't do a damned thing.
I am a doer. I want to fix it. So I try to do things. Anything to keep me busy, distract me, make me feel like I am doing something for someone else.
I can't do anything for my husband. Nothing.