I saw it. I heard it.
All those hushed questions, how is she doing? is she doing any better?
It hurt me. Why wasn't anyone asking him how he was doing?
Why was everyone so concerned about my mental and emotional state but few were concerned about him?
It hurt me. But I was so consumed by grief and sadness that I never spoke up.
They mattered not only to me but to him as well. He matters too.
Very few people asked him about . . . him. Very few people took the time to spend time with him. Very few people took the time to listen to him.
A lot of people asked him about me.
The day after they were born and then died, before I was even discharged, he was on the phone attempting to make funeral arrangements.
He was fielding many phone calls.
He got out of bed every morning (the same bed I would spend days on end in) and would take care of our daughter, prepare meals, go to the grocery store, do the laundry, all the things that I not only lacked the desire to do but forgot how to do.
He went back to work.
He loved me through it all. All the while juggling his own heartache.
Silently. And alone.
He held us together. He held me together. He became so incredibly stronger than he ever thought he could become. He became stronger than he realizes. He was my glue.
Carrying his own grief, his own sadness, his own loss of dreams and love, he still pushed forward, living each day, carrying me through hoping I would make it through.
Living each day where his wife had become a zombie and he was left wondering if she would ever get out of that bed and resemble a person again.
He pushed forward and still no one asked him about him. I don't know if that hurt him, all those people asking him about his wife but never once concerning themselves with how he was coping.
Did he ever want to scream, they mattered to me too! I love them too!
I sat one night, sobbing, voicing all those dreams and all that love gone, so consumed with my own sadness that I couldn't think outside of self. I looked up and he was crying . . . sobbing really . . . and that's when I realized that his pain ran just as deep.
He put voice to his lost dreams . . . his lost loves. He would never get to take them on a Daddy-Daughter date. He would never get to walk them down the aisle and give them away. He would never get to dance that Father-Daughter dance at their wedding.
He loves them like only a father can love his little girls. He had dreams for them. He wanted them. They were not only my daughters but his as well.
They mattered to him so he matters too.