Day 6: How do you answer the question of how many children you have?

How many children do you have? 

It's not a hard question...

And before I entered this reality of life after baby loss I would have answered simply

But now it has become a loaded question, just like so many other things that used to be so simple

 I have three children.

and I sometimes long to be able to answer it that directly, without the other person becoming awkward and uncomfortable and the conversation grinding to an awkward halt. But that's not the way it works in society. Death makes people uncomfortable (heck it makes me uncomfortable), talking about the dead is weird, attention seeking and just not done. And because its not done we don't know how to do it without it being weird... So we don't do it. And the cycle perpetuates. 

Sometimes if its a person I'm unlikely to ever meet again and there is no need for them to have the whole story I do have the opportunity to answer so simply. Three. I love saying three, it makes me heart sing to hear those words out loud.

Sometimes if its someone that I know will understand (like mums I meet at the SIDS and kids gatherings, or online in my support groups) I also get to answer three without hesitation. Two angels and one living child, and I know they understand, and it isn't weird and they understand why I say it the way I do.

And then there are times when it feels necessary to say less than three. 

If a government or other official department is asking obviously it would become confusing to include Melinda and Jonathon, there's no space to acknowledge deceased family members because like it or not they are not relevant. Only one.

If the person asking is of a medical background I have learnt to answer two. Because to them my son doesn't count. Because, since he was born before 20 weeks, he is considered a miscarried pregnancy, not a baby lost. I have two but my second daughter was stillborn. Meanwhile that voice in my head asks what about Jonathon? 

When the others mums at kinder ask or at school next year I will probably say only the one even as all the while my heart screams three, I have three! Because its sometimes just too hard to go into it, too much to ask from a complete or virtual stranger to compute my loss and respond with tact. Too hard to field those eyes that won't quite meet mine once they know, those mums who will no longer catch my eye because they don't know what to say. Too hard to be known as that person. But I will walk away with shame in my heart, for denying my children. 

I usually avoid asking that question of anybody. For two reasons, firstly I don't want to place someone in a situation where they may feel they have to deny their child, and secondly, maybe they won't ask me if I don't ask them. But by the same token this doesn't allow for that transcendent joy of publicly  acknowledging and sharing your babies existence.

I don't know what to do to make that question easier for both the asker and for me... I've often thought I should practise a response in the mirror. 

Them: how many children do you have?

Me: three, Elianna who is four, Melinda who was stillborn at full term in July this year, and Jonathon who we lost half way through our pregnancy in 2011

 But where I come unstuck is after that.

 Sometimes people say "sorry to hear that" and I (in my attempt to prevent the awkward moment arriving) say "it's ok". When clearly it isn't ok that they're not here to be counted among my live children. And then I feel like crap for not acknowledging how much their not being here has affected me. I need to think of a better response to that. (Feel free to email me if you have any suggestions)

Sometimes the awkwardness is avoided by a comment from the asker such as "those are beautiful names"  or a similar deflection from the topic. (Also please feel free to comment or email me if you have any suggestions for other ways to respond to the conversation without making it awkward, maybe we can learn together)

Sometimes it provides an opportunity (and I'm surprised at how often this happens) for the asker to tell me about their own angels, which is a lovely moment. And this is one reason I know i shouldn't avoid this conversation. Who knows when the last time the asker has been able to freely talk about their experiences. I shouldn't deny them that opportunity purely in an attempt to avoid possible awkwardness. 

Maybe in the years to come I'll find this question easier to answer, easier to forgive myself for the times when I answer less than three, and easier to redirect the awkwardness into a positive interaction for both parties involved.