You won’t see his tears.

It’s not that they aren’t there, but for whatever reason in your earnestness to check on her, you forgot about him.

Nobody whispers about him.

Their focus and their conversation remain firmly on her. How will she cope? Does she cry at night? How can she exist?

Stoic and determined, he will continue on. He will take phone calls, help with arrangements. People will request that he pass on their best wishes to her. He will thank them for their kindness, their thoughts, and their prayers.

He opens the door to deliveries. They bring bouquets of flowers. Teddy bears. They know what they are delivering. He knows what they are delivering. There will be only silence.

The aftermath will be great. He remains bewildered. Falling through the days, just as she does.

He will make appointments for her. He will speak to doctors, social workers, funeral homes. He will make notes about the service. He will juggle his work commitments, carefully, so as to continue to maintain an income that lets them survive this horrific time while ensuring maximum time at home with her. To care for her. To love her. To support her. To be her husband.

But at night, when she sleeps he will cry, and he will question.

Why doesn’t anybody remember that she was his daughter too?


Guest Post by Tam