While driving home from the hospital after the birth of our fourth child, a son named Finn, I posed a question to my partner, “How will we respond when people ask how many kids we have?” He paused for a moment before replying, “We only have three. We only have three with us.” This sentiment has lingered, even two years later. In our home, we have three children who are here with us on Earth, sharing laughter in our living room and singing in the car. Finn was once alive within me, only to be lost the next day; he weighed a delicate 3 pounds and 2 ounces when he was placed in our arms. We held him for a fleeting four hours before he was taken away from us.
For many parents who have experienced the loss of a child, the seemingly innocuous question, “How many children do you have?” can lead to profound heartache. This everyday question is often posed by new acquaintances, fellow parents at school, or even strangers at the grocery store.
Initially, I found it challenging to navigate my response. Other bereaved mothers advised me to acknowledge Finn by including him in my count of children, urging me to honor his memory. Many loss mothers emphasize that failing to mention a lost child equates to neglecting their memory, disregarding the discomfort it may cause the person asking.
However, I have a different perspective. When we moved from Colorado back to our home state of Nebraska — transitioning into a new neighborhood full of unfamiliar faces and my eldest starting kindergarten — I often encountered new people at the park or school. These friendly individuals might become friends, or perhaps just acquaintances I would nod to as we passed by.
I contemplated carefully how I would respond when asked, “How many children do you have?” I wanted to be the mother who proudly declared, “I have three daughters and one son, but our son passed away.” I wanted to believe that I could honor Finn’s existence without regard for the discomfort it might cause the asker. Yet, when I tried this, I found myself in tears each time I spoke his name, and the interactions became overwhelmingly burdensome.
Responding with “four” transformed an otherwise pleasant exchange into a painful moment of grief for me. Those who didn’t know me witnessed my sorrow mere moments after meeting me. Yes, they learned I had delivered four children, but they also left the encounter feeling sad and perhaps guilty for asking a simple question.
In my mind, I pictured them recounting the awkward moment to someone later, “I met a woman at the park who cried when I asked how many kids she had; it was terrible!” I decided that Finn’s memory is too precious and sacred to be tied to feelings of guilt or pity. When meeting new individuals, I need to establish a sense of safety and connection before sharing about Finn.
Once I have developed a deeper relationship with someone, I am more comfortable discussing Finn and his role in our family. When I choose to wait, the moments I eventually share about him are often filled with love and understanding from those I trust.
Unfortunately, we do not have Finn with us. We have three daughters with us now. Thus, when asked by a stranger, saying “three” is an accurate and sufficient response. In time, I may choose to share about Finn or I may not. It depends on the moment, my emotional state, and the nature of our relationship.
I also approach the topic carefully when asking others how many children they have. It’s a personal question, and I understand that individuals may share their experiences at their own pace. I now recognize that what seems like a simple inquiry can carry deep emotional significance and complex answers. For more information on related topics, you can explore this excellent resource on IVF and the nuances of family planning.
In conclusion, the question “How many children do you have?” can elicit a variety of responses, shaped by personal experiences and grief, and it is essential to approach such inquiries with sensitivity and understanding.
Keyphrase: The emotional impact of child loss
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