When we were driving home from the hospital after welcoming our fourth baby, our son, Jamie, I turned to my husband and asked, “What should we say when people ask how many kids we have?” He paused and replied, “We have three. We only have three here with us.” That was the reality then, and it remains the same today—over two years later. In our home, filled with laughter and love, we have three children with us. Jamie was once a tiny 3 pounds and 1 ounce, alive and kicking one moment, and then just gone the next. We held him for four precious hours before he was taken away. He is not here.
For many parents who have experienced the loss of a child, the seemingly innocuous question, “How many children do you have?” can feel like a dagger to the heart. This is a question often posed by new acquaintances—neighbors, fellow parents at school, or even strangers at the grocery store.
For quite a while, I wrestled with how to respond to this inquiry. Other moms who have suffered similar losses urged me to speak Jamie’s name, to claim my four children and honor his memory. I’ve seen comments urging moms to include their lost children in their count, suggesting that failing to do so diminishes their memory. While I understand the sentiment, I have a different perspective.
After we lost Jamie, we relocated from Colorado back to our home state of Montana, stepping into a new neighborhood filled with unfamiliar faces. Our oldest daughter was beginning kindergarten, and we found ourselves frequently meeting new people at the park and school. Some could potentially become friends, while others might just be casual acquaintances.
I considered how to answer the inevitable question, “How many kids do you have?” I thought, “I want to honor Jamie!” I wanted to be brave and say, “I have three daughters and one son, but we lost him.” But every time I spoke his name, tears flowed, and it turned those brief encounters into painful moments. Answering with “four” turned what could be a pleasant conversation into a painful reminder of my grief.
I could picture the awkwardness that would follow—those unsuspecting souls would leave thinking, “I met this woman at the park, and she just fell apart when I asked how many kids she had. Now I feel terrible!” I realized that Jamie’s name and memory are too precious for that. I wanted to share his story with people who I felt safe with, those who would understand and embrace our family’s journey, even if they never met him.
In time, I’ve learned to share Jamie’s place in our family only with those I’ve built a deeper connection with. When I finally do share, it’s in moments filled with love and understanding. For now, we have three daughters with us, and when asked, saying “three” is a perfectly accurate response. I might choose to delve into Jamie’s story later, or I might not—it’s all about the moment and my emotional space.
Consequently, I now approach asking others about their children with care. I’ve come to understand that this simple question is often more complex than it seems. People might open up about their families on their own terms, without the pressure of my inquiry.
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In summary, navigating the question of how many children we have can be a delicate matter, especially for those who have experienced loss. It’s important to honor each journey and recognize that every family’s story is unique, filled with love, heartache, and resilience.