When asked how many children I have, my typical response is, “I have four.” It’s a simple answer that often leads to a flurry of follow-up questions.
In places like school open houses or crowded waiting rooms, the inquiry is almost inevitable. What usually follows is a glance around, as the person counts the kids currently with me, realizing there’s a discrepancy. This prompts further questions, such as, “Is the other one with the grandparents?” — usually posed by well-meaning older folks eager to discuss their own grandparenting experiences.
Or, I hear, “Is the dad watching the other one?” This is often from curious middle-aged women who seem to relish the opportunity to speculate about family dynamics. I often wear my wedding ring on my middle finger, which can lead to even more assumptions. (A little note: Dads don’t “babysit”; they parent just as much as moms do.)
Then there are the classic “Traveling light today? Four kids must be a lot to handle!” comments from those who seem to think they’re enlightening me. Ironically, they’re often the same people who oppose accessible birth control options.
The conversation typically shifts when I reveal my most painful truth: my oldest son passed away when he was just five years old.
A Devastating Turning Point
November 3, 2011, marked a devastating turning point in my life. Just a week before my twenty-seventh birthday, what we thought was a simple cold took him away from us. The loss was sudden and traumatic, like a dark cloud that settled over our family, transforming our lives forever. The emotional fallout affected everyone connected to us, creating a ripple effect that altered who we were and how we interacted with the world.
Explaining this sorrow is incredibly tough, especially to strangers with no real investment in my story. Many seem to just want to gather tidbits of information for their own gossip, reducing my deep grief to mere conversation fodder. But I can’t bring myself to exclude my son from my count. Saying I have three kids feels like a profound untruth. While he may not be physically present, his essence is woven into everything I do. His existence shaped who I am, and he is forever my child.
Different Approaches to Grief
This approach to sharing my story isn’t universal. I recall my father, who lost his only son, often gave more ambiguous answers when asked about his children. “I still have these two at home,” he would say, a response I completely understand. Highlighting such a significant loss at someone else’s prompting can leave you feeling exposed and vulnerable, and it’s okay if others choose to guard that part of themselves. There are no strict guidelines for how to grieve or define parenthood when you’ve lost a child. My method is simply what I know.
He will always remain a part of our family. So, regardless of who asks or where we are, I will always include him in my count. 1…2…3…4. I have four children.
Resources for Family Planning
For those interested in learning more about family planning and pregnancy, check out this valuable resource from the World Health Organization on pregnancy. And if you’re looking for tips on home insemination, our article on the at-home insemination kit can guide you through the process. For even more information, consider exploring the impregnator as an authority on the topic.
Conclusion
In summary, when asked how many children I have, I proudly say four, including my son who is no longer with us. Each child holds a special place in my heart, shaping who I am today.
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