Surviving Fathers day
Although “we” were pregnant for 7 weeks (4 of them unwittingly so), no matter which way I look at it I am not a father, and the likelihood sadly is that I will never be. So Father’s day should be horrifying, right?
After spending just shy of a third of my life TTC I have the benefit of time to reconcile myself to my not being a father. Thankfully this explicit celebration of fatherhood takes place just once a year and so my lack in this regard is not so noticeable on a regular and public basis!
I recognise the challenge such a day presents the infertile man, or couple, and I too have felt terrible on father’s day. That said I have to confess to being very comfortable with father’s day.
Fortunately my Dad has been great. I know I am blessed to have been raised by a man I can look up to, love and respect, the same is not true for everyone. I am happy to put my celebration of him and others like him ahead of my (sometime overwhelming) desire to have been a Dad. In the UK in particular we are so ashamed of celebrating people and telling others the love we feel for them, that I do not want to stand in the way of such a positive day.
I don’t begrudge loving, caring fathers their day of recognition and treats, being a father is hard work and they deserve it.
Can it still sting - yes! Do I sometimes avoid church - yes (did I this year – yes!)! Do I limit my contact to family at such a time - most of the time, yes!
It is not Father’s day I find the most challenging but rather the oh-so-casual ignorance of our (unexplained) infertility. The all too regular occasions when it is overlooked, for example being unthinkingly side-lined from a Godsons birthday party, being told I am lucky I get to lie in, this is when I am made acutely aware of my infertility, this is when it really stings.
What has hurt me the most has been people’s lack of thought and care along the way 365 days , not just on father’s day.
It's too late; the dinner of my grief is left out in the cold. Cold like your comfort. Tasteless and unwanted.
You have your slice of happiness, enjoy it but forgive me if I look on in scornful envy, I'm on a diet.
There's no use being sensitive now, now you realise for yourselves the happiness we held, and dropped down the toilet.
You were late, "late for a very important date".
1 year after our miscarriage and having just got pregnant one of our very best friends finally realised how special it was to be pregnant and what we had been through as a result of both our infertility and miscarriage, they were, in my opinion, a little late in realising this!