This question. This innocent question. It’s often a conversation starter, and it helps people find some sort of common thing to talk about. It truly is a great question for most. Until the worst happens. Then it becomes a question that you avoid like the plague.
About 2 months after Gabe died I went out with a friend and met a few people. One of them asked me how many children I had. I froze. And I said two. I said their ages and we talked a bit. I felt sick. I felt horribly sick. I wanted to leave. Eventually I excused myself and went to cry in the bathroom. Because I felt like I had slapped Gabe in the face by not acknowledging him. Because he is my child too. I don’t have two. I have THREE. But I was afraid of where the conversation would go. I think I was protecting that person from having to face the horribly reality that was now my life.
As the evening went on we talked a bit more and eventually she asked about my boys’ schools. And that’s when I mentioned Gabe. I told her where the younger boys went, and then I said that I had a son who was in high school, but he died. At that moment she knew who I was. I don’t really remember the rest of the night. I made small talk and eventually left. I will never forget that night. The first time I was asked that question.
As the months went by it would happen again, by another mom at the pool, by new doctors, by other people who didn’t know me before. I learned to not ask anyone that question- because it can be a painful answer for them and because it is usually reciprocated with the same question. As time as passed I have refined my answers and evaluate the situation. To the mom at the pool, just a few months after his death, I said “I have 2 here “(to me meaning at the pool). Now if asked how many I say three, and then tell the person that my middle son is — years old and my youngest son is –years old. Most of the time people aren’t really listening so they don’t catch that I said 3 and gave the ages of 2. If it’s a person that I know I will see again, or attends my church or other place where we will come into contact again I usually do the above thing with the ages and add that my oldest died at 15.
It’s never an easy question, and it ALWAYS makes me pause. There is a very complex amount of thought that happens in that short time of figuring out the best way to answer. What I have realized, though, is that I HAVE to say I have 3. Because I do. And I always will. I have also realized that while that person may be uncomfortable for a few minutes, I am uncomfortable always and probably will be to some extent for the rest of my life. My child will always be missing and that is an uncomfortable feeling that can’t be described.
So I will continue to say three. And maybe in the process I will help a few people feel a bit less uncomfortable about the thought of child loss, or even encourage another parent of loss to have the confidence to speak out so they can remind the world of the missing piece in their heart.