There are several basic questions that people ask when they are getting to know you. You may be at the register buying groceries and the cashier strikes up a friendly conversation or you could be at a small gathering with friends where you meet someone new. The small talk begins and you are asked things like What do you do for a living? What neighborhood do you live in? Primarily innocent, getting-to-know-you type questions from a person with the best of intentions.
Before my daughter died, I used to breeze through small talk without a care, often forgetting much of the conversation only moments later. Now small talk makes my face flush and my heart race. My senses heighten and my mind wanders as it braces for the question. The seemingly innocent, getting-to-know-you type question…Do you have any children?
During the first year after my daughter’s death, I would sometimes find that I held my breath for no reason and the question wouldn’t come. Now that I have her 1-year-old younger brother, I find the question comes nearly every time. He is always with me snuggled against my hip, throwing bashful grins to the stranger across from us. Is he your only child, they ask?
This question continues to bring me anxiety and I find my responses have gotten no wiser or more graceful than they were nearly 3 years ago. Sometimes I find I even avoid people or places in order to keep from having to answer it. This isn’t a new topic and this question has been discussed at length in blogs and forums for bereaved parents.
We all have our arsenal of responses and our philosophy on how to best answer. My philosophy has always been to decide in the moment which answer to give.
Is he your only child?
I’ve tried answering honestly.
No. I have a daughter. She died in 2012.
When I answer this way I’m usually witness to the person’s eyes widening and their smile sloping into a frown. They seem to express a mixture of embarrassment, shock and sadness. They often fumble their words, trying to come up with the right thing to say. Sometimes they stop speaking all together or come up with a quick reason to end the conversation. It seems they can’t wait for my departure so they can erase my daughter’s tragic story from their minds.
I’ve tried answering with partial honesty and misdirection.
No. I also have a daughter. They sure grow up quick. My son here sure loves his swimming lessons…are you a swimmer?
I’ll quickly deliver my answer throwing out an immediate new topic to hopefully move the conversation along. Sometimes it works. Other times we trail back to how old my daughter is and I must eventually reveal she died. Again we are back to awkwardness and discomfort.
My final option is to lie.
Yes. He is my only child.
I have convinced myself for years that it’s okay for me to respond this way. I hold her in my heart and I’m not denying her, it’s just not worth the uncomfortable discussion – It’s best to just breeze past it and not make the person feel bad for asking – There is no need to experience that discomfort when I will likely never see this person again.
While all of these reasons are valid, it has never once felt right to me to pretend she didn’t exist for their sake or my own comfort. I’ve spent a long time trying to come to an understanding of why it feels so wrong and I finally know the answer.
By keeping her a secret I fear I’m feeding into the ignorance society maintains around infant loss. I am agreeing that it is probably best if we just don’t talk about it. This counters everything I stand for and this realization has taken me by surprise. I thought I was bringing awareness with my writing and involvement in the loss community but I’ve missed an important step. If I want to create awareness I need to be able to openly talk about my daughter’s death with people outside of the loss community.
As bereaved parents we long for a society that will embrace us in our grief and allow us to say our babies names. We strive to cultivate a culture that is aware and supportive of those of us who have experienced such a loss. We implore people to find it in themselves to ask about our children and recognize them on their birthdays, to move through the discomfort of not really knowing what to say but saying something anyway. How can we expect them to do this if we are unable to do so ourselves?
I’m choosing to never keep my daughter a secret again. I’m choosing to speak my truth and to allow others to process that truth however they can. It may make people sad or uncomfortable, they may flub their words or try to end the conversation, it may feel awkward for me but at least they will know my truth. They will know my baby lived.
I have a wonderful 16 month old little boy and he has a beautiful older sister who died. She would be turning three in August. That is my family and I’m as proud of her as I am of him. Thank you for asking about them.
Perhaps they will learn from my story and re-evaluate small talk. Perhaps they will reveal their truth to me and I can learn something from them. Maybe deeper bonds can be forged and small talk doesn’t have to be small anymore. Maybe it can carry more meaning. Maybe that stranger will go home with a new appreciation for their own children. Maybe that stranger will stay a connection and become a friend.
I encourage everyone reading this to speak your own truths and be your authentic, vulnerable, beautiful selves. It’s okay to be uncomfortable. Walking through that discomfort and sharing your heart can foster something really meaningful and beautiful. Creating more awareness around infant loss can start with us.
Del says
Loni,
I am so sorry for your loss.
I stumbled upon your website today while somehow getting distracted from my very busy, hectic work day and can’t seem to break myself away from it. It’s okay though, these things happen for a reason.
I can honestly say I’ve never left a reply or comment for any post I’ve read on any topic ever in my life. In this moment though, I feel compelled to thank you for sharing your experiences in your honest, heartfelt posts… and specifically writing about the everyday anxiety that comes with knowing the dreaded question will happen… “Is he your only child?” or “Is he your first?” or “does he have any siblings?” or however that particular stranger chooses to word the question that day.
When I’m alone with my son, I can answer honestly and move forward. “Yes, he is my only child.” If they ask does he have any siblings? I never know how to respond. “Yes, He has a sister in heaven, who he will never meet because she was tragically taken when he was only 5 weeks in utero.
I often find myself wondering… do I ask people if this is their only child? or their first?
When my boyfriend is with me, though…. the anxiety turns into almost a full blown panic. I never know what state he is in, or how quickly a good mood can turn just by one simple question…. or on some days, how he is able to remain visually unaffected by such an innocently intended question. And I still never know how to answer, so I usually let me nerves take over and if the question is specifically directed at me, I can easily say “Yes, he’s my first or Yes, he’s my only child” and then move on to whatever will get me out of this situation the fastest… can you believe this crazy weather? how about those red sox?!
But, when the question is directed at us…. or him….. I can see a thousand thoughts go through both our minds in the few seconds that feels like an eternity. If he doesn’t answer and just stares, I’ll do whatever I can to respectfully answer and move on, even if it means I have to lie… or deflect back on me and say yes, he’s “our” first with a smile and hope/pray they do not continue with questions.
It’s a simple question that has such an affect on so many. I did not lose a child. I lost my boyfriend’s daughter, who lived with us part time… Whom I love immensely and feel so blessed and honored that I was able to share in a part of her life. But, I was not there when she was born, or said her first word, ate her first solid, took her first steps, said Daddy for the first time, ran into his arms saying I love you.. I don’t know where he goes to in his head sometimes. I know when to change certain songs in public, and always try to have access to the music to do so, or to ask kindly if we can play a different movie besides Frozen, or Hunger Games, or… the list goes on. I know how to read his vibes to know if I have to take over a conversation, or make an excuse to step out. I know when certain phrases are said or a certain store is mentioned or some parent is going on and on about how great their child is doing in “X” grade, or on the soccer field, or an activity at school…. that I need to change the subject, take over the conversation, or remove us entirely from the situation. But, I will truly never know what it feels like to be in his mind, heart, body or soul. I only know what I know, what I feel, how I hurt, how I grieve and choose to honor his sweet, beloved, beautiful and generous baby girl.
I still dread the question, knowing confidently it is going to happen pretty much every place we go with our 1 year old son. But the truth is – he does have a sister. His dad does have two children. She was not my blood, but I love her and honor her as if she was – as best I can. I am not just the girlfriend grieving the loss of my boyfriends daughter. I am the person trying to sift through my own emotions, grief, loss, being a new full time working mom with no support system locally…. while trying to be as supportive, compassionate and understanding as I possibly can be given the limited resources and emotional insight I have (which is usually because I pull it out of him…. never good!). We are a broken family trying to survive through every moment of every day. I am fully dedicated to trying to shield this as best I can from our growing, thriving, extremely smart and hilarious baby boy…. while also trying to sift through the field of inexperienced advice from others about how things should be….
So the next time someone asks me or us if he has a sibling, I think it’s time I say it how it is since they so confidently asked. Even if it’s just a simple “Yes.”
Thank you for the post. Sorry for the long rant. Sending positive vibes, love and appreciation your way…