The Silent Partner

By Clare Hedges

I was scrolling through my phone at the end of May and saw an advertisement that gave me that sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach. The advertisement was for Father’s day cards. Another brutal reminder that life is not as it should be.

In most relationships one of you will be the open book and one of you will be the closed book. I am certainly the open one in our relationship.

If someone asks me if I have children, I won’t hesitate to say yes and then I will tell them that Mylor died, and usually comfort the person as I watch them squirm and feel uncomfortable.

My partner, on the other hand, will say no, and then he will come home racked with guilt that he hasn’t mentioned his beautiful daughter, for fear of making someone feel uncomfortable.

He will often follow up this uncomfortable exchange with a text message, explaining about Mylor, and then it will never be mentioned again.

When you’re the closed book you often don’t get the support that you may need and most certainly deserve.

Since our daughter passed away I have been for numerous counseling sessions courtesy of Outlook SW and Cruse Bereavement, I also have a Lullaby trust befriender. I even have a group chat with three of the most amazing women, whose worlds also fell apart in 2019 when their babies left them.

These support networks didn’t fall into my lap, a marching band didn’t wander through the living room dropping off leaflets, I had to seek them out, but I’m an open book and I didn’t have any problem with asking for help when I need it. In my mind I had two options, get help or commit suicide.

My partner has had none of these support networks. Even when I forced him to contact the local counseling service, after doing a phone assessment they offered him a group therapy session, not the six 1-on-1 sessions I was offered as a mother. I can confirm he never signed up for the group session, and I honestly can’t say I blame him!

I know that on Mother’s day I just want it to be over as quickly as possible; I avoid social media & public places. I have to poignantly look away when I see mother’s day displays in the supermarket.

It breaks my heart seeing all of the Father’s day hype as well. I look into the sadness of my soulmate’s eyes and imagine how life would be if he had his daughter here to share it with him.

I always appreciate the recognition I get on Mother’s day, mainly from my own mother, my partner’s mother, and a few close friends.

I found myself looking for a Father’s Day present from Mylor for her daddy. What is the appropriate gift to buy in this situation? What would Babboo want Poo man to have (an affectionate name he earnt himself for doing 90% of the nappy changes)?

He is the one who spent a week sleeping in a hospital chair when Mylor was born because he didn’t want to go home and leave us.

He is the one who took six weeks off unpaid to look after us when we came home after my c-section.

He is the one who did all the nappy changes, he is the one who figured out how that bloody car seat fit in the car.

He is the one who put his arm around me when we left the hospital after Mylor passed away.

He is the one who had to go back to work, while I sat at home grieving on my ‘maternity leave’ and he is the one who so bravely carried her tiny little coffin into the crematorium at her funeral.

I want to reach out to all the bereaved fathers and let you know that we see you; the world may not know what to say to you, but you are every bit as important in the story as everybody else.

___________________________

Clare lives in the UK with her partner and their dog Sozay. Their daughter passed away unexpectedly at 7 weeks old in January 2019 from SIDS.

Author
Recent Posts

Guest Post

This is a Guest Post. If you have something to say about being a Still Mother, Father, or Grandparent, we'd love to hear it! Check out the Get Involved tab on our website to learn how to submit a guest post of your own.