“How Many Children Do You Have?”
It seems like an innocent enough question for civilians (individuals who have not experienced child loss), “So, how many kids do you have?”. For me, and probably, safe to say, most bereaved parents, it makes us stop in our tracks. The conversation typically goes as follows…
CIVILIAN: So, how many kids do you have?
MY MIND: oh…shit. They asked the question.
MY MOUTH: Oh…3.
MY MIND: ugh, that was too long of a pause. I should answer quicker next time so it’s less weird. Please stop there, please stop there, please sto…
CIVILIAN: Oh that’s busy! How old?
MY MIND: F*ck…they kept going. UGH! Okay…ummm do I say the age Zoey died or her current age? Ummm…wtf do I say? I just want this to end…
MY MOUTH: *insert nervous laughter* Oh, they are 7, 5 and 2…
CIVILIAN: Oh my goodness! Terrible twos, you have a little terror on your hands!
MY MIND: Nope, my child is an angel. LITERALLY.
MY MOUTH: Oh ha ha… *again, nervous laugh*
CIVILIAN: You need to get your mother to watch them sometimes, so you can get a break!
MY MIND: Wow, double knockout…actually my mother is watching my child…permanently…she is also dead…they are together in heaven…without me. Please, please stop talking. Please lord, make this end.
MY MOUTH: Ha, yes good idea.
CIVILIAN: Don’t rush home now! Take advantage of this alone time!
MY MIND: Trust me, I am alone…with my thoughts…every single second of every single day. If I could have my child back, I’d choose to never be alone again. Now, F*ck off please…
MY MOUTH: … *small, tight lipped smile as I pay for my doughnuts*
It is never easy to have this conversation and I dread it, every single time. There are 3 possible options to my answers, and they all suck.
OPTION 1 - say I have 2 children.
I cannot and will not pretend that Zoey doesn’t exist. It infuriates me when people deny my child or choose to forget that she lived, and so to do it myself makes me physically ill. This option is actually NEVER selected for me, so that leaves me with the next 2 options.
OPTION 2 - say I have 3 children.
This option is the easiest. It is true, I do have 3 children. But then a bunch of other issues come up - are they going to ask more questions? Do I say that she is 11.5 months (the age that she died, the oldest I’ll ever know her to be)? Do I say that she is the age she SHOULD be? What do 2 year olds do, I don’t remember? Would she be talking? Walking? Eating french fries? How can I make this seem as ‘normal’ as possible without getting glossy eyes and just turning around to run out of the store? How do I not throat punch this lady when she says I must ‘need a break’ from having this many kids? How can I get this conversation to f*cking end so I can finish purchasing my dozen doughnuts to eat in my car, in peace, while listening to depressing music and bawling my eyes out???? Plus, is there any chance I will see this person again? If the answer is no, then no problem, it’s done. If there is a chance you will, like with your dentist, then you’ll have to continue this charade for every single visit, until at some point you slip up or you get sick of hiding it and so you let it out. If this happens, it becomes that much more awkward, which leads me to the next option.
OPTION 3 - say I have 3 children, 2 living.
This option is the truest, but the hardest. To share that you have a child that has died is basically taking off your winter jacket to expose that your chest cavity has been torn open and your heart ripped out. And it’s not about protecting other people from this level of vulnerability, it’s about protecting yourself.
Not everyone deserves to be let in to that level of raw. Not everyone deserves to see me at my lowest. Not everyone deserves to hear my voice quiver as I say that my child has died. Not everyone would support me after I’ve said it.
When I tell people that Zoey died, sometimes they ask me to repeat myself, thinking they’ve misheard. As if saying it the first time wasn’t hard enough. Then I have to watch as their eyes panic while they process my words. As they stumble to find theirs, they now expect me to comfort them with what they’ve just learned. As if I’ve ruined their mood, their day…as if I’ve done them a disservice in sharing my reality. They are now the ones that need the support.
They’ll then ask questions, how did she die, what happened? Because this complete stranger’s need to know is more important than honoring my privacy and emotions. They see me stumble to try to explain, the hesitation as my lip trembles and eyes water, yet they don’t back off. They mistake my ingrained politeness as an invitation to implore, and they dig for answers until they are satisfied…and then, the comments come… “I guess it was meant to be…” “God chooses only the most special angels…” “She’s better where she is now…”. Maybe these comments bring them peace in knowing that an innocent baby died. Maybe it allows them to go home and sleep soundly, knowing that “It was meant to be…” for my baby and not theirs. Don’t worry, there will definitely be a future post addressing the comments that people make.
In the meantime, I continue to flip flop between Option 2 and Option 3 when asked how many children I have. It all depends on the day I’m having, how strong I’m feeling and whether or not I deem this person worthy of our story. And if I’m feeling really adventurous, I’ll pull up my sleeve and show them all of the birds tattooed on my arm, to showcase all of the babies I have carried in my body.
I, myself, hesitate when asking people about their children. I’ve found that, when given the opportunity, people will share with me the information they choose and are comfortable in sharing, without my questions. I don’t need to ask, all I have to do is listen.
Regardless, when it comes to this question, my Zoey is always, always included in my answer, in my stories, in my life. So if you ask me how many children I have, it doesn’t matter if I pretend she is still alive, or if I reveal to you that she has died because she is and always will be my child, and while she’s no longer physically here in my arms, she is permanently in my heart.
Pam xo