How many kids do you have? Us bereaved parents, have all heard that infamous question. It’s one I have dodged with an awkward gracefulness, but also one I haven’t been asked as frequently in recent years. Most people close to me know the answer to that; we have three children, two of whom are here with us. However, as our kids get older and our social circle expands, with the addition of sports friends, camp friends and school friends, I find myself once again dodging that question with less awkwardness and perhaps more grace, but always with regret.
We have three kids. Larissa is as much one of our children as Ambree and Austin, but because she’s not here and infant/baby/child death is uncomfortable and taboo, per say, I find myself denying Larissa’s existence, answering that question with “We have two.” As that response leads to further small chat regarding our children’s ages, teacher, grade level, and hobbies, I half pay attention to my responses and small conversation as I struggle with internal battle of not mentioning Larissa.
I know why I do it. I do it to protect others; protect them from the shock and unimaginable loss that no other parent wants to ever endure. I’m not alone though. Sadly, so many moms and dads share my silent grief. No parent would want to ever deny their child’s existence despite how brief their time here on Earth may have been. The reality is I have three kids. I wasn’t ever afforded the opportunity to parent Larissa, but she is still my firstborn, forever in our hearts and always my daughter.