To this day, more than 8 years have passed since my son died and I still hesitate when someone asks me how many children I have. I pause a little longer than a mom who hasn’t experienced loss. I most likely look a bit desperate as I battle internally over which answer I’ll give in that moment.
Unfortunately for those who have experienced such loss, that question is never an easy one to answer. In fact, it’s the opposite of easy. It’s hard. It’s a lump-in-your-throat-stomach-sinking kind of hard.
It’s hard because it requires a significantly more in-depth answer than just a number.
It’s hard because I want to honor him. He was and is our son.
It’s hard because the inevitable next question is always “what are their ages?”
It’s hard because I never desire to make someone else feel uncomfortable or awkward.
It’s hard because I never want to seem callous when voicing words like “well my second son died as an infant.”
After 8 years of grief, I’ve learned that while I still hate the question for it’s powerful ability to catch me off guard and the subsequent stumbling around for words it causes, it’s a little less difficult than the early days when I would just sob at the unsuspecting Target cashier.
It’s little less hard because even though the answer isn’t quick and tidy, it is an opportunity. An opportunity for grace to abound. An opportunity to teach another what joy through suffering looks like. An opportunity to be full of grace amidst heartache. An opportunity to be full of hope when circumstances tell us otherwise.
It’s a little less hard because I’ve had 8 years to rehearse my answer, so it makes for a little less awkward exchange, a little less time spent internally battling over which answer I’ll give, a little less time spent analyzing whether or not my answer will make the other person feel uncomfortable, a little less time wondering if my son will be honored by my answer.
It’s a little less hard because I now know that my son’s life had value; value that is not determined by the reaction or response of another.
It’s a little less hard because I expect the awkward now. I’ve learned that people generally don’t know what to say and that’s ok. It’s not their fault. I choose to see it as an opportunity to show grace; as the other person stares blankly at me I choose to smile through the heartache and the awkward in order to hopefully provide an intentional picture of joy through suffering.
It’s a little less hard as I’ve learned that people will most likely not discern a callous heart and instead see a strong and brave woman who has Hope and Joy through the hardest of circumstances.
And it’s a little less hard because I realized I love any opportunity to share my son, even with a stranger, even if in quick passing. He will forever be worth the momentary knot in my throat.
I would love to know how you choose to answer that question?
If you are on the other side of that conversation, experiencing the awkward moment of not knowing what to say in return to such news, a great place to start is: “I’m so sorry. Will you tell me about him?” Generally, us mamas just want any chance to talk about our littles, even when they are no longer here on earth with us.
Experiencing our second pregnancy loss, this is a question I dread. In my eyes, we have two babies that we won’t get to meet on this side of heaven, but they were still beating hearts that we loved for 12 weeks. Perhaps some people don’t consider that a qualifying event for parenthood, but to us it is. I still haven’t been able to say aloud anything other than “we don’t have kids yet” when people ask how many we have. Oh for grace of an answer as the questions persist.
Hi Jasmine,
Those beating hearts were your babies and life is never qualified by a number of weeks. I think a “we have two babies in heaven” answer could bring life and joy to your own heart. Praying for you this Mother’s Day. You are loved and not forgotten.
xo
ashlee
Thank you so much for sharing this; it is so near and dear to my heart. My daughter Evelyn Ryan died 5 months ago, after only 3 days of life. I had a placental abruption during labor (induced at 40w2d) and had an emergency c-section. A few weeks ago, my husband and I were at a garden show and I was standing there swaying while waiting for him to pay for our purchase from a vendor. The woman looked at me and smiled and asked if we had kids. I froze, I didn’t know what to say or how to respond. My husband just said, No, not right now. She went on (and on) to explain how only moms stand there and sway like that, so she really thought we had kids. That exchange absolutely gutted me, and I couldn’t say anything. My eyes welled up with tears and I stood there, like a statue, until we could walk away. I’m still working out the right thing to say – like you said, I want to honor my daughter. She was here! She existed! She was mine, and still is, even though our time together was so, so short.
Christina, oh my heart is breaking with you. Those moments are just so incredibly difficult. I have had lots of those and I realized early on that it was helpful to discuss with my husband how I was feeling in those moments so he could come alongside and help answer that question when I just wasn’t able to. I am certain he too probably wanted to honor Evelyn’s life and would love to shout her name from the rooftops if given the opportunity, but in those moments it just happens so fast and we have no idea what to say. Praying for you both. And especially praying for you this Mother’s Day.
xo
ashlee
Yes, I agree that it is adifficult question to answer.
My son has been gone 1 1/2 years.
God has showed tremendous grace to myself and family
At first, I would find myself avoiding people I knew. Especially customers at work. There are so many that I would see after being gone. They would ask me questions. New people I meet ask me how many children. Especially, when I was pregnant.
I would find myself avoiding conversation. I told God I did not want to be that way.
He stregthened me to be able to answer the questions, knowing it was bringing Him glory.
Walking our son through sickness and death was the hardest journey I have experienced. At the same time it was one of the most beautiful and grace filled journeys I have experienced.
Gods comfort and gentle hand has been upon our family.
Sometimes, I may choose not to go in detail about what happened to our son.
That is ok too.
Some days I am not able to walk through those memories. They are painful and joyous at the same time. Which is not always easy to experience.
I miss our son fiercely.
I know Gods plan was played out in his life. God does not make mistakes 🙂
That brings me comfort.
Yes. So grateful for the miraculous joy and beauty and grace God gives amidst heartache. Praying for you this Mother’s Day.
xo
ashlee
Thanks for sharing your heart, and giving us insight on how we can comfort and support you through something we’d otherwise not know how to do!
Thank you Lisa for reading and for desiring to love well and comfort and support those who are hurting around you. So grateful for you. xo, ashlee
I love this, Ashlee. Thank you so much for sharing this. There is depth and beauty in your story, and I’m especially appreciative for the advice on what to say when on the other side of that conversation.
Thank you Audrey for reading and for desiring to love those in your life who are hurting. xo, ashlee
Oh Ashlee thank you for helping me to understand what it is to loss a child. A dear friend of mine lost her baby girl last week. She was one month old. I am at loss for words and want to make sure I understand what she is going through. Thanks for this website!!!!