Nowhere else to put it

I was busily cleaning up the LGBB's strewn toys after she'd gone to bed with Daddy tonight. Just as I heard Steve come in to the room, the dogs barked and as it had been a tense afternoon I began to mutter a "Shut the &*@K up" at them.

And then I looked up because he kept coming towards me. What? A hug? At this time of day?! But I saw his face, red and wet with tears. And he just collapsed onto me and said he'd told Lolly just now that tomorrow is going to be a special day for her sister Ella the Baby. I asked him what her reaction was. Apparently she just stared wide-eyed, probably trying to understand but not getting anything other than Dad was different tonight. She knows exactly who Ella is, in a line-up of babies she can point her out. I'm so pleased to see that our lovingly nurtured remembrance of her sister, for her, has already begun.

I didn't know what to say. So I just gave a hug in return. What can you say? Hell, I kind of feel like I've even run out of people IRL to share this sort of thing with. So I put it here. At least I can get it out here where, hopefully, it is left. It's just another of those moments that we just have, there's nothing to be done about them, nobody needs to 'fix' anything (for they can't), it just is what it is.

It's sad but it's not desolate anymore. Moments like this bond us, remind me at least that my husband is not a machine, that he is not unfeeling, that he doesn't forget (I was fearful he had, when he booked in some help from family tomorrow - we're laying the new floor in the morning and I didn't want to do any work at the house on Ella's birthday but a distraction for Steve for just a couple of hours is actually right and perfect and good timing, it seems).

So once again, I go to bed anticipating an emotional day tomorrow. And yet, if it's like last year, it will be (while poignant and a quietly reflective, low energy day) quite alright. I will cope. I don't have to remember to breathe in and breathe out anymore, those days have long passed.

But I do have to remember to see Steve in all this. That's the hardest part. Reaching out to each other in our own spaces of deep sadness on anniversaries like tomorrow.