“Dads Grieve Too”

Today has been really hard, and I’m not sure why. I mean, I know why, but I’m not sure what makes today different. But it is.

Maybe it’s because today is a harder than I expected, and maybe it’s because I deserve (or need) to have days that kick my ass like today did, but the fact that today has sucked makes me want to rant a bit about something that has been bothering me for a while.

“Dads grieve too.”

I hear it all the time now. I see it on Instagram posts and Facebook pages are dedicated to the idea. There are books (or at least chapters of books) with that exact title. And on the surface it seems like a good thing to share and make sure people realize.

But here’s where my rant starts, and I apologize if it doesn’t make any damn sense, but quite frankly, this post is for me, not you.

Of course dads grieve too. And for anyone to suggest otherwise is either completely out of touch or completely insensitive. Likely both. The reason I say this is to say that there shouldn’t be a need to tell people that I have a heart and that it is shattered. I shouldn’t need to explain to people who know about Simon why I’m not so smiley or why I’m having a shitty day. Dads grieve too because -NEWSFLASH- dads are parents. Dads are people. Dads like me lost part of themselves.

I firmly believe that no one with an ounce of compassion would ever wonder why a mom who lost her child is sad, crying, grieving, broken. I would never ever question a mother’s pain, and it would be utterly asinine to do so. Hell, no one questions why a mother whale is grieving the loss of her calf. So why don’t dads get that same automatic consideration?

I didn’t carry Simon inside me for nine months. True. But I did carry him in my heart for nine months. From the instant of our embryo transfer, a part of my heart was living outside my body. I did everything everything within my power to make sure he would be happy, healthy and here. Turns out none of that mattered. For nine months, a part of me was growing, thriving, living, I just couldn’t see or feel that part of me aside from the periodic ultrasounds and the nightly kicks (once they were strong enough for me to feel.)

And now, that part of me that was living apart from me is gone.

I never got to know what it was to hold our Simon as he squirmed and wiggled around. I never got the chance to know him, to teach him, or to laugh with him. I lost a part of me.

So dads grieve too, huh?

No shit we do.