My bedside table overflows with books on grief and baby loss, tissues, and cold tea from the night before.

They each comfort me before I have the task of making myself fall asleep.

As I walk over to my boyfriend’s side of the bed, I’m surprised to see what’s on his bedside table. Goodnight Moon sits there so perfectly; ready to be read, as it was every night for 38 weeks. It hits me harder than I thought it would.

At this one second I feel guilty. Anthony, my boyfriend, listens to me patiently every night, holds me during my breakdowns, and reminds me of all the happy times during our pregnancy. He wipes every tear away and even makes sure I eat at least three times a day. Whenever I need to call him at work, he takes the phone call. At night, I read him parts of my grief books; sometimes the same paragraph over and over again.

During these two excruciating months, he has been so strong. How did I not see him bring Goodnight Moon into our room? Each night I have brought more and more comfort items into our room and he has asked about each of them. They allow me to feel closer to my son and my grief. Goodnight Moon is one book that he finds comfort in from this loss and sorrow. This one book was a staple in his father-son relationship. He’ll never be able to hold and read to him. It makes me feel guilty that I haven’t looked, literally and figuratively, to other side.

Friends and family focus on me, the bereaved mother. Most times he, the bereaved father, is not even asked about.

As a boyfriend he puts on a strong face to comfort me. His world was flipped upside down, just as mine. Just as I am my son’s mother, he is his father. His dreams of reading Goodnight Moon, playing catch, and teaching him how to ride a bike were gone in that same second as mine. Our son’s absence is equally as deafening. I see him cringe at the Father’s Day commercials, ignore the ads in the mail, and talk about how he wished we could be spending the day with our baby boy. The second he knows I see his grief he redirects to taking care of mine. He lives each day with this intense grief. Deep down he’s screaming for his son, but on the surface he tries to soften my screams. This is the life of a bereaved father.

This Father’s Day is our first. I always planned on doing a craft with our son, a coffee mug with his footprint painted in blue across the side. These milestone days play a huge toll on my emotions, but I feel I’ll have to put on the strong face. It’s his day to be the father he wants to be. He really is the best dad I could have ever wanted for my son.

Tonight and every night from now on, I’ll ask Anthony to read us Goodnight Moon. I’ll let the words comfort us both and hope our little boy is listening from above.