Every time I find myself at a school open house, a parent meeting, or even just waiting in line, I inevitably get asked the same question: “How many children do you have?” My response is always four. That’s when the mental math begins for the person asking. They usually notice that I only have three kids physically present with me, which leads to a flurry of follow-up questions.
“Are the others with the grandparents?” This is often posed by cheerful seniors eager to share their grandparent pride.
“Is Dad watching the other one?” This tends to come from curious middle-aged women who seem to relish the idea of scandal, hoping for a juicy story to tell their friends later. (Just to clarify, Dads don’t “babysit”; they parent, just like Moms do!)
“Traveling light today? Four kids must be quite the handful!” This is the kind of statement that comes from what I like to call the “No Shit Sherlocks” — those who feel the need to restate the obvious to reinforce their own beliefs. Ironically, these are often the same people who oppose free birth control.
The conversation usually takes a more serious turn when I share my most painful truth: my oldest 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 simple cold turned into a tragedy that forever altered our family. The suddenness of his loss was unbearable, leaving emotional scars that affected everyone around us.
Even now, years later, discussing this loss with strangers is incredibly challenging. Many people ask questions out of mere curiosity, often to add to their collection of gossip. I can hardly bear to think that my deep pain could become a topic of casual conversation. However, when someone inquires about my children, I cannot leave him out of the count. Saying I have three children would feel like the greatest deception. He may not be here physically, but his presence is woven into every facet of my life. His existence shaped me into who I am today.
I understand that my way of coping may not resonate with everyone. For instance, my father, who lost his only son when I was a child, often responded to similar inquiries with a more open-ended answer: “I still have these two at home.” I completely empathize with that approach. It’s difficult to expose your deepest pain to someone who may not care. Grieving is a personal journey, and there’s no one right way to navigate it.
For me, he will always be part of our family. Therefore, regardless of the context or the individual asking, I will always say I have four children.
1…2…3…4
I have four children.
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In summary, the journey of parenting is complex, especially when dealing with loss. Each child, whether present or absent, holds a significant place in our hearts.