He forgot Valentine’s Day
I’m pretty sure he forgot Valentine’s Day. We don’t really do Valentine’s Day anymore anyway, since our wedding anniversary is just a few days beforehand. Actually, I’m pretty sure he forgot that too. None of it matters. He’s the one who placed our dead baby on my chest and told me to hold her. He’s the one who held me up by my armpits, looked me in the eye and told me that I would be okay; I would not be broken forever.
Some day, the little things will matter again. But when you’re still reeling from tragedy, you can’t see how roses or fancy dinners or even diamond rings or wedding proposals can mean anything. How can any of these things tell you whether you’re with someone who will know that twerking in front of the bedroom window will make you laugh when you no longer have the energy to cry? How can you know that he will be able to sit with you and will wait patiently until you have the strength to be able to look at him in the eyes?
When you’re no longer looking at the little things as some kind of predictor for how you’ll cope with the bigger things, you can see them for what they are: little things. It creates a gentleness in the relationship. I know that when he doesn’t stack the dishwasher or take out the rubbish, it has nothing to do with me. I’m learning to first think about what he might be feeling, rather than about how it is making me feel. We share this pain and can carry one another through it.
So, he forgot Valentine’s Day. I know that he is there for the big things.