It's Fathers Day, sadly not a happy one. Without our James here with us, our arms are empty, but you are still a Father.
You became a Father on November 4th 2017, the day we took the pregnancy test. You'd reluctantly gone to the pharmacy, as I'd been feeling sick for 10 days, you thought I was just being a hypochondriac and psychosomatically wishing I had morning sickness, but those two pink lines proved us wrong.
For weeks afterwards, I would catch you grinning to yourself, or I'd see you looking at other Fathers and their children and occasionally suggesting baby names whilst reading ending credits of a TV show.
James' pregnancy was difficult, from the medical detox to the severe sickness and the pain. You would work a 10 hour day, come home, cook, clean and then work on your art projects, whilst I took to the sofa - scared to move. You were a star and never complained.
When we went to scans, you would involuntarily grab my hand and we'd grin like fools, I could physically see you falling in love with James. As my tummy grew and my symptoms subsided we started to plan the nursery, we bought a Moses basket, discussed breast pumps and researched birthing plans, none of it phased you, I knew you were more than ready to be a Daddy.
On the fateful day we found out we would lose James, as our hearts broke in unison, I knew in that moment how much you loved both James and I, by how much pain you were in.
When James was born, I was highly medicated but the memory of you holding our boy, stroking his face, tears streaming down yours whilst your Dad, James' Grandad, rested a supportive hand on your shoulder - will stay with me forever.
The process of losing James took its toll on us, but only strengthened our relationship, you became more open, emotional and honest, after 12 years together I didn't think I could know you any better, but you becoming a Father just made me more proud and in awe of you.
In the 2 and half months since James was born, you've had to go back to work, but it hasn't stopped you caring for me. When you arrive home and I've barely managed to do more than shower and cry, you don't tut or become annoyed, you always ask "What can I do?" and sit and hold me as I sob... and that's all I need. You do this all whilst grieving yourself, you've been so strong. I cannot thank you enough.
One day, you will be a Father of a living baby, he or she will never replace our first born, but losing him as made me realised, now more than ever, how much I want children with you. If we can come out of all this heartache, stronger and more solid, then I think anything else life throws at us will be a doddle and I'm so glad it's you by my side.
So have this Fathers day with your own Father, yes it will be sad, yes there will be someone missing but let's hope that by next Fathers day it will be a happy nappy filled one.
I love you