Two Kisses for Maddy_ A Memoir of Loss & Love - Matthew Logelin [53]
On another occasion, I was picking up some supplies at Home Depot and the person who was helping me, a tough-looking Hispanic guy wearing an orange smock over a white muscle shirt, his arms and neck covered in tattoos, took one look at me and knew there was something wrong.
“You okay?”
“No. Not really,” I replied.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“My wife died a few weeks ago and I’m a fucking wreck.”
“I’m sorry. I lost my son in a shooting last year. It’s not the same, but I know pain.”
Just feeling that hurt was something that a lot of people couldn’t relate to or even fathom, but by simply asking me if I was okay I knew that this man got it. He knew that no matter how tough or together you tried to look, there were moments when nothing but a good cry would do the trick. And that helped.
When I walked down the street with Madeline in my arms, it seemed like everyone was looking at me as if I’d stolen her. When I walked into a kid’s clothing store, I felt like everyone thought I was using her as a prop in order to kidnap their children and use their skin to make lampshades or something. The people I encountered on a daily basis could jump to any number of conclusions: to some I might be a deadbeat dad, babysitting my child on weekends; to others, maybe I was a child predator. But, as is the case in all encounters with strangers, the only way to really know what was going on in my life was to ask questions. And it was always the same one: “Where’s her mother?” No one ever asked where my wife was.
Seriously? A father alone with a baby is not such a rare occurrence in modern society, but it seemed that some people’s attitudes needed adjusting. When was the last time a mother was out with her child and a stranger wanted to know where the father was? The very idea of asking such a question would not only be rude, but it would also be a complete invasion of privacy. Yet I got that question almost every time I went out alone with Madeline.
I always answered the question as honestly and directly as I could, which often made me feel like I had somehow been tasked with pissing in everyone’s lemonade. It’s not fun to ruin people’s days by answering a simple, terribly inconsiderate question, but I couldn’t avoid the truth of my own situation, and I certainly wasn’t about to soften things for someone I didn’t even know.
But it wasn’t just the sad look on my face or the baby in my arms. I know I brought some of this attention on myself by continuing to wear Liz’s rings, but I just couldn’t take them off. They had been on my left pinkie ever since I put them on in the hospital, and I was too afraid to leave them unattended in the house. I would have been seriously pissed off if something had happened to them. Besides, with my unexpected weight loss, they fit perfectly. What dude doesn’t need a few diamonds on his finger? And still, I needed that physical reminder of our closeness; I wanted Liz’s most prized possessions to become a part of me, just as they were a part of her.
When Anya and I took Maddy to the pediatrician, the assumption in the waiting room must have been that we were a very happy family—mother, father, and daughter. But I could feel the other parents’ puzzled looks: Why was he doing all the caregiving? Why was he holding their