He sat beside you as you waited for the doctor to confirm the results — that little plus sign ready to change his world forever.
He held your hand through the first ultrasound as you nervously waited to hear that first heartbeat.
He went out for late night ice-cream runs, laughing with you about the pregnancy cravings and offering sweet reassurances that even with your expanding waistline and swollen ankles, you’d never looked more beautiful.
As our first official Father’s Day flitted by in a haze of early morning snuggles, a baby entranced by empty watchband boxes, and a quick trip to the doctor for a bad case of diaper rash, I was reminded that this day was yet another milestone for our family. Our first Father’s day was one of joy and remembrance as we celebrated my husband and the boys who made him a dad, and a time of reflection as we mourned the memories that we had hoped to make as a family of four.
Sitting on the couch, watching the lake water reflect through the window of our summer cabin, I asked my husband about his experience with grief. As he paused for a moment to think, I was struck by the sudden realization that for the past year, he has had to carry an extra heavy burden. As husband and father, his shoulders have borne the weight of both his pain and mine. He has stood tall as protector, provider and supporter for our family during an uncertain time, and he has emerged from the other side stronger but still scarred.