When individuals inquire about the number of children I have, my response is always four. This typically prompts a series of calculations on their part, revealing that my answer exceeds the three children often seen with me. Consequently, they feel compelled to ask more questions:
Common Questions
“Are the others with their grandparents?” This is frequently posed by elderly individuals eager to showcase their grandparent pride.
“Is their dad watching the other one?” This query usually comes from inquisitive middle-aged women, often hoping for a lack of a father figure to gossip about later. My choice to wear my wedding ring on my middle finger often triggers this line of questioning, especially after a quick glance at my hands. (As a note, fathers don’t “babysit”; they parent, just like mothers do.)
“Traveling light today? Four kids must be quite a challenge!” This comment comes from those I refer to as the Obvious Observers, who feel the need to state the evident, often to reinforce their own assumptions about the burden of having many children. Ironically, these individuals often oppose accessible birth control options.
The Darkest Day
The conversation generally shifts when I share my most profound sorrow with complete strangers: my eldest son passed away when he was just five years old.
November 3rd, 2011, marked the darkest day of my life. Just a week before my twenty-seventh birthday, what we thought was a minor cold claimed my son’s life. The suddenness of his passing felt like a devastating explosion centered on our small family. The emotional fallout from that loss radiated outward, altering everyone it affected. Each person involved experienced a transformation that reshaped our identities and futures.
Articulating Grief
Even though I have lived longer without him than with him, articulating that grief is undeniably challenging, especially to those who have no personal connection to my story. Many people are simply looking to gather information for their internal gossip banks, as if my pain is merely a source of entertainment. I struggle with the idea that such a profound loss could be trivialized into gossip.
Yet, when asked, I cannot exclude him from my response. To claim I have three children would be an untruth, the most significant falsehood I could utter. Though he is not physically here, his impact remains in every aspect of my life. His existence has shaped who I am today. Regardless of his absence, he is an irreplaceable part of my family.
Different Approaches to Grief
This approach to answering questions is not suitable for everyone. I recall my father, who lost his only son during my childhood. Years later, I observed him giving a vague response when asked about his children: “I still have these two at home.” I understand that perspective fully. It can be incredibly exposing to share the deepest pain of your life with strangers. Some may not be able to confront that vulnerability, and that is perfectly valid. There are no universal guidelines for grieving or parenting a child who has passed. My way is simply the only one I know.
He will forever be a member of our family. Thus, regardless of who is asking or the context, I will always include him in the count of my children.
1…2…3…4
I have four children.
Further Reading
For more insights on parenting, including topics like home insemination, check out our other blog posts such as this one on artificial insemination kits. If you’re interested in fertility rates, this resource serves as an excellent reference. Additionally, for support regarding pregnancy and home insemination, you can find helpful information here.
Summary
The author reflects on the complexities of parenting after the loss of a child. When asked about the number of children she has, she includes her deceased son in her answer, as this acknowledgment honors his memory and significance in her life. This perspective may not suit everyone, highlighting the diversity of grief experiences. The piece serves as a reminder that love for a child persists regardless of their physical presence.