Sean’s death makes me uncomfortable.

Twice this week I have had to point out Sean’s death to important people in our children’s lives. The first was on Saturday when the coach at Luke’s basketball practice announced the dad-son basketball game next week and I had to speak to him after practice and explain his absence for the first (and certainly not the last) time. The coach was very sympathetic and understanding and assured me that he would stand in for the game.

Stand in.

Another man.

Has to stand in your place during the father-son game. This thought fills me with so much rage that I could make myself sick. You should be here for your son you piece of shit. Now he has to settle for stand-ins.

And it’s not good enough.

The other was this afternoon, at Gwendolyn’s baptism when a representative from the Knights of Columbus had gifts of hand-made rosaries for the parents of the children to be christened. When he came to me, he hesitated in his offering, noticing that I was without her father and I quickly had to spew out “my husband is deceased”. Poor man didn’t know what to do.

This is only the beginning- Father’s days, birthday’s, Christmases, daddy-daughter dances and father-son games. Weddings and graduations…

I hate that Sean put me, and worse- our children in this horribly uncomfortable position. I hate that I even had to think about him on a day that should have only been about our daughter, but somehow, even in death his presence lingers and his absence taints every joyous occasion.

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