Today I volunteered with a few of our youth and gave out Christmas gifts and bags of food to folks who wouldn’t have been able to have those things otherwise. It was a good time and I enjoyed working with the woman who I was helping. And we started asking questions. And she knew I was married. And then the question came:
“So, do you have any kids?”
From a lot of the reading I’ve been doing – there are different ways that people approach this question after they’ve lost children to pregnancy loss. Some don’t want to get into the whole story, and they say “No.” Others want to honor the extremely short lives their children lived and will say “Yes.” Others might say something like, “Father of two, none living.”
The question caught me off-guard a bit, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. But before I knew it, the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “No…not really.” But it was clear by the look on her face and by my discomfort with saying that, that there was more to the story. She continued with, “Oh…soon?” I think she thought I was hinting that we were pregnant.
I could have just said no and left it at that. This isn’t a woman I’ll run into a lot around town and it could have been fine. But after I said no, something felt fundamentally wrong about that. I had to share the story. I am a father. I held two twin baby boys in my arms who were named, baptized and yet died after living extremely short lives.
So, yes. I do have kids. They just aren’t with us anymore. They died. And it sucks. And it’s horrible. And it happens. And it happens to people all the time. And no one really talks about it. And perhaps by sharing a bit of my story with you, it will help create awareness of pregnancy and infant loss, and may begin just the tiniest shift in cultural perception of this issue.
Or at least that’s what I’d like to think. In reality, I just bummed her out.
That’s been the phrase Sarah and I have been using since October 25. Sarah came home one day from class and told me that she totally bummed out this girl in class who asked about her pregnancy. I came home one day and Sarah had seen a tweet of mine and said, “Nice job! Way to bum them out…”
Now, I may not want to bum people out at every opportunity. There may be some situations when I just don’t feel like talking about it and I may say no. I don’t know. I can’t foresee every situation in which this question will arise. But for me. For today. For my conversation with this woman, I needed to tell her yes. Yes, I do have kids. But they died.
I think this is an extremely personal decision – and so I don’t think there is a right way for any couple to navigate these kinds of questions. Some may always need to say no; that might work for them. I think the important thing is to do what works for you. Do what you feel most comfortable with and what works best for your situation.
I’m sure this is just the beginning of these types of issues to deal with and figure out. For those of you who have lost children – how do you respond to these types of questions? Is it the same each time? Or is it totally dependent on the situation?
Abigail Benjamin says
Wow, I’m so struck by this post. Is the woman that you “bummed out” the same woman that you were extending charity to? Because it might have been a really great gift to give her some honesty about your life.
I flip-flop. When my son died, I was really vocal at first about counting him in my “I’m a mother of X amount of kids”. I told everybody. Now four years later, I’m much more private about it. It’s not so much a concern about bringing people down, but rather it’s more self-protective– that spot is so sacred and holy.
Sarah says
Adam, I have two sons who are now 27 and 23. 18 years ago I gave birth to a son who “died before he could be fully born” as my pastor at the time said. David James was stillborn at 21 weeks. He had a heartbeat until shortly before he was delivered, to the best of my recollection. Having had one son born at 28 weeks (the 27 year old) we had already determined that most likely David would not survve at 21 weeks, much like your Micah and Juday.
I’ve always said “I have 2 sons.” Becaue I do. If it is appropriate – esp. if speaking with someone who has experienced the early end of a pregnancy for whatever reason, I say more. But most people don’t ask “did you have children, or how many children have you had?” If asked either of those questions, I’d answer “Yes, three. Two are still living.”
Abigails’s comments also resonate – that time was, and is, sacred and holy. Painful and horrible – my marriage was also collapsing.
Time is part of the journey, and it’s too soon to tell what will be your responses over time. One day at a time , one month, year…
I hold you and Sarah in my prayers.
Sarah says
Adam, thanks for sharing, for all of it. I can’t believe how many people I know who’ve lost pregnancies or taken the baby to term and then lost it before delivery. I was talking today to a friend about how many prenatal deaths there are but it’s not talked about. And then he was sharing a story about one of his friends who ran over and killed his 5-year-old son after his son fell as he was backing out of his driveway. It’s all so hard; there is so much tragedy. Thank you for talking about it.
Diane says
I understand the dilemma of wanting to answer someone’s question, but at the same time not wanting to “bum them out”. My situation is different. My husband died almost 9 years ago when my kids were 3 and 6. He took his own life. I’m always amazed when the first question some people ask when they know I’m widowed is, “Oh…how did he die?” Depending on my mood and/or the context of the conversation, I will either say that I prefer not to discuss it, or if I suspect they asked because they are morbidly curious, not concerned, I will tell them the truth…that usually shuts them up pretty quick…not the answer they expected. I’m so sorry for your loss. Death of a loved one is hard no matter their age or circumstance.
Rob says
Not quite the same, but I have a friend who had 5 and lost one at 18. She says she is the mom of 5, still. At least most of the time. Sometimes she says she used to have 5 and lost one.
I think you are the dad of twins. And they’re gone. And it sucks. That’s the gospel – sort of. Life is not supposed to be this way. God is working to restore all things – but we’re not there yet. And if that’s a platitude, then I’m sorry.
Life sucks. And life has joy. You are a father. Being a dad means mixing the joy and the suckiness together.
DCUrbanDad says
It just seems like there is no right or wrong here, but what helps you. I tend to believe what Rob believes. You are the dad of twins. Your posts continent to amaze and move me. You are both in our prayers.
Thomas says
Since the passing of our Daughter Lily last march, my wife an I both reply to that question as “we are the parents to an Angel”. The responses vary, but usually it’s an “I’m sorry”. We simply reply that we are not, since in her short time with us she taught us a lot, and she accomplished more than most do in a lifetime. As far as the “Bumming out part”… that strictly depends on the situation. For instance, when somebody does nothing but complain to ether one of us about their children, for some mundane, insignificant inconvenience for them, we tend to reply “at least you have your child(ren), try being a parent to an Angel”. The complaints stop right there and then.
Thank you for sharing your story, if only for your own sanity. Others like myself find it helpful to read about other’s point of view, in a true to life way… not some watered down P.C. staged rambling.