I’m lost, something all loss parents feel. Often.
Way too often.
Something that should be so simple but got so complicated.
Complicated all because my oldest son died.
I gave birth to 3 boys, two lived, but our oldest died.
Our youngest will always be our youngest because we are done having kids.
Our oldest, who died will always be our oldest. No matter what.
Our middle son… here it gets complicated.
What do we call him?
“Our middle son”… that tends to lead towards looks of confusion. I am just as confused as they are.
How is it that there are two kids, but he is being called the middle son?
Where is the oldest?
He’s our oldest but not our oldest.
The oldest living but not by birth order.
Sometimes I’ve said he’s our oldest but then I regret it… because he is, but he isn’t. Plus it upsets me thinking I am bypassing my child no longer here.
He deserves to be remembered in any way possible. I don’t want to even for a moment act like he did not exist. Because he did, he may not have gotten his full life, but he got 12 days.
Please Don’t Forget About My Child
My middle son is seven years old, and I’ve struggled with this since he was born. It became even more complicated when we had our youngest, our last one.
With one child, he’s just your child.
He technically wasn’t our only, but he is all the public gets to see.
When asked if he is our oldest or some question where I have to answer the order question… I freeze.
Those asking probably think something is wrong with me. What parent doesn’t know that this brilliant curly-haired 7-year-old is their oldest child?
Because he is, but he isn’t.
People rely on what they see as a basis of fact. Facts and life are way more complicated then what we see. Even our eyes can lie to us.
Here is this woman (me) who has two boys; one older and one younger. She has two kids, but she can’t answer the simple question.
“Is he your oldest?”
Sometimes it is not even a question.
“Your oldest is adorable.”
“Look at all that curly hair on your oldest.”
“Your oldest looks just like this dad.”
Part of me wants to scream, “He’s not my oldest; in fact, my oldest died in my arms at 12 days old”.
But I am not that type of person; I want to tell you he is not our oldest. Another boy is missing from this equation, from this family.
People want to say I have two kids but this body birth 3, this mind remembers things about all 3, this heart holds on tight to all 3.
The Missing Piece Of Our Family Puzzle
My oldest is always my oldest no matter that he is no longer here.
My youngest is always my youngest.
My middle is… he is my Aden.
He deserves his own identity, but I am lost on what to call it.
Do I call him my oldest and deal with the emotions that may bring on?
Do I start saying he is our middle child?
He is our oldest, but at the same time, he is not.
What do we call our middle son?
A question that would have been so easy to answer if our first had lived but becomes complicated by the fact that he did not live — a constant theme in our lives; complication, doubt, questions.. all of it.
My middle son… is the oldest but is not the oldest.
Marisa is the mother to 3 boys, one gone too soon and 2 keeping her on her toes. Drake died in 2010 at 12 days, 16 hours old after being pulled from life support due to injuries he sustained during delivery. Her other 2 boys: Aden and Gavin, whom she loves every minute with them.
