Being a bereaved parent can be very lonely. You’ve been through what most people believe is one of the worst things anyone can experience, and you’re changed forever. You’re trying to figure out who you are now that you aren’t the you of Before.
Someone asks, in casual conversation, “How many children do you have?” Suddenly, what was once an easy question is now loaded with considerations. I find myself doing quick calcuations in that moment: What is the likelihood I will ever see this person again? Do I have any inkling of how they would respond to the full truth? Is this just polite small talk?
If I don’t think I’ll see them again, if they seem uninterested, if this is standing-in-line, just-passing-the-time talk, or if anything seems unsure, I usually keep things very simple. “Three” I say. “Two boys and a girl.”
If this could the beginning of a longer or deeper relationship, the person seems genuinely interested and willing to stick around to talk awhile, or something just seems sympathetic about them, I’ll answer more fully. “Four” I’ll say. “Two boys and two girls, but our oldest girl passed away last year.”
Even still, my calculations can be wrong. And there’s no conversation killer quite like death.
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I know what you mean, I go through that question of calculations in my head every time I am asked that question….Praying for you
Though not as often and not so much in casual conversation, I know what you mean if people are asking how many siblings I have. But what probably hurts more is when I have been with my niece who my Mom sometimes brings to visit her cousins, my boys. She is the spitting image of her Dad, which means she looks alot like me. I am often troubled explaining the answer to "Is she yours?"
Joy, thank you for not beating around the bush about tough life situations and conversations like this one. We've been through "sensitivity training" for this adoption since we're now going to be a trans-racial and conspicuous family. I'm already freaking out about how to answer questions people are going to (or are already) asking. This post helped me calm down a bit–that it's OK to think about how you answer depending on your audience and estimated relational longevity of the person asking. (And, I appreciate your educating me/us about grief.)
I just found your blog through Conversion Diary. As a bereaved mother, this is still the hardest part for me. Any time I say 4 instead of 5, my heart breaks a little. My prayers are with you and your family.
I just found your blog site today and started off with your Grief series. I have also lost a child and can relate to this section of "How many children do you have". I usually answer 4, and depending on the situation explain that my daughter now lives in heaven. I am now going to spend the afternoon reading all thru your site. It feels good to communicate with someone who knows how it feels to lose a child.
I've never thought about that, Joy. Not with kids. However, I deal with that awkwardness when it comes to conversations about mothers-in-law. Piping up and saying, "Oh, mine died 8 years ago," just doesn't quite work, even though it's totally what I want to say.
My parents had a baby before me, but he died the same way. My whole life, though, I've known exactly who my mom was referring to when she said, "Your brother." She didn't mean my younger brother who I have grown up with; she meant my older brother who I never met. I imagine she's probably gone through the same sort of thought process you describe here, although I understand the situations are different.
Hopped over here from 6yrMed.
I know what you mean about the pause. Our only child went to Heaven 2 yrs ago. I don't think I'll ever be able to say I don't have a child no matter how casual the conversation. It still makes me feel a little queasy when I am asked.
"I have a son and he lives in Heaven."