It’s just such a hard time, the week or so after her birthday. Memories that I don’t specifically sit down to recall pop themselves into my brain anyway. I’m caught off guard by flashes of faces, reminders of moments. They eventually make me sit down and look through my old journal entries about this time.
Six years ago, in a post about my first full post-hospital day, I wrote the following:
Josh and I snotted all over each other last night. It breaks my heart that this is hard for him as well. Seeing him cry hurts me just as much as seeing my father cry… both of which happened yesterday. But Josh held me as I cried. And I held him as he cried. We wept for something that I don’t think either of us fully understand. I wish I could take away his pain.
There are so many reasons why I married my husband. The fact that he understands this loss, feels it in his own way and almost always lets me grieve when I need to is one of those very reasons. I say “almost always” because we had an issue on Sunday, her birthday.
He thought he was being supportive by being extra affectionate, loving, present and un-sexual-touchy-feely (hugs, holding hands, etc). I thought he was ignoring me in my grief as he didn’t actually verbalize, “How are you today?” Oh, the different ways in which men and women communicate. They’re funny, no? The truth is that I let my own emotions cloud my judgment on that one. I have no doubt that my husband understands what I’m going through and supports me in my healing journey. In fact, he understands it better than most anyone, having been through everything he has been through with me, with us.
Our anniversary is on Friday. Because, yes, I love to shove everything into one month per year. Why not? I’m hoping that he knows how much I love him… for all that he is and all that he has done and all that he thinks to do. Even if we do communicate differently.
My name is Jenna. I blog here, 
