Trigger warning: child loss
Every time I find myself at a school event, a casual gathering, or even just waiting in line, someone inevitably asks, “How many kids do you have?” My answer is always four. This, of course, prompts a bit of mental math on their part, as they quickly notice that I usually have only three children in tow. This leads to more questions, and I can almost predict what they will ask next.
“Is the other one with the grandparents?” This is often posed by well-meaning older folks eager to share their grandparent pride.
“Is Dad watching the other one?” This question usually comes from nosy middle-aged women, looking for any hint of drama to share with their friends. They often glance at my hands, hoping to catch a glimpse of a wedding ring. (Quick note: fathers don’t “babysit”; they parent, just like mothers do.)
“Traveling light today? Four kids must be quite a challenge!” This comment typically comes from what I like to call the Obvious Observers. They enjoy pointing out the obvious, reinforcing their belief that four kids is an overwhelming number for one person to manage. Ironically, these very people often oppose free birth control. Go figure.
The conversation usually shifts when I reveal a painful truth to complete strangers: my eldest son passed away when he was just five.
November 3, 2011, marked the darkest day of my life. Just a week shy of my twenty-seventh birthday, what we initially thought was a simple cold turned into a tragedy that devastated our family. The loss hit us like a bomb, leaving emotional fallout that changed us forever. Although I’ve lived without him longer than I had him, articulating that pain is never easy—especially to people who have no personal connection to my life. It’s disheartening to think that my grief could be reduced to gossip fodder, a mere conversation starter.
Yet, when asked, I can’t bear to omit him from my count. To say I have three children would feel like a betrayal—a colossal lie. His existence shaped who I am, and although he isn’t physically here, he remains an integral part of my life.
I understand that my approach may not resonate with everyone. My father, who lost his only son when I was a child, often gave more vague responses, saying things like, “I still have these two at home.” I completely understand that. Highlighting your greatest sorrow at someone else’s whim can leave you feeling vulnerable. There’s no right or wrong way to grieve or parent a child who has passed away. My way is simply the one I know.
He will always be a member of our family, and regardless of the question’s intent or the context in which it’s asked, I will forever include him in my count of children. One… two… three… four. I have four children.
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Summary
This piece explores the emotional complexities of acknowledging a lost child while parenting surviving children. The author reflects on personal experiences, societal expectations, and the nuances of grief, emphasizing the eternal bond between parent and child, regardless of physical presence.
Keyphrase
counting children after loss
Tags
Tags: [“home insemination kit”, “home insemination syringe”, “self insemination”]