How many kids do you have?  It’s such a common, innocent question.  I often ask it myself when making conversation.  

My answer is tricky, however.  I have four daughters, but one of them died.  How do I answer this question without making the one who asked feel uncomfortable?  Or worse, feel sorry for me?  Most of the time my answer is three.  I have three girls.  But every time, my mind immediately goes to Mabel and I feel that fleeting sense of loss and regret all over again.  Am I dishonoring her by pretending she didn’t exist or am I preserving her memory to savor for myself?

Mabel would have been 11 years old this March.  Sometimes I like to imagine what she’d be like.  Would she have had dark hair like her older sister?  Would she have been snarky like her younger sister?  Would she have liked horses or swimming?  Would she have been outgoing or reserved?  Would her entire face have lit up like her youngest sister’s does when she’s excited?  

I felt her movements, heard her heartbeat, and saw her shape.  But I didn’t get to know Mabel.  I held her in my arms, but I didn’t get to see her eyes looking back at me.  I didn’t get to feel her embrace or even her warmth.  I lost a part of myself the day I lost her.  

It took me years to be able to talk about her.  After she first died, I hid from everyone I knew.  I felt so much shame that I wasn’t able to protect her.  My body had failed me and I had failed her.  

One day my husband said to me, “For Mabel’s entire life, she knew your love, your warmth, and your voice.  You were the best mom to her.  She was so lucky.”  (I know, isn’t he great??)

Another time I confided in a very wise and motherly colleague of mine what had happened so many years ago.  I admitted to feeling embarrassed that I still cried over her death, and that the months leading up to her birthday were still so hard for me.  She gently told me that a mother never stops grieving the loss of her child.  

At different times in my healing, it took only a simple phrase to shift my perspective.  Each time I was permitted to forgive myself.  I allowed compassion into my heart and slowly let go of the notion of “should”.

When my 6-year-old is asked how many siblings she has, she simply answers, “I have three, but one died.”  I feel proud and touched that she’s thinking of Mabel, yet feel a sense of unease.  How will they react?  Usually, she’s met with a nod of understanding with no follow-up questions.  I feel envious of the ease at which she can talk about her.  It’s all so simple and matter-of-fact in her mind.  

Though the concept of death is oversimplified for her, I strive to be like her.  I want to be more open about it.  I want to talk about my experience and my baby girl.  I know that it will take time to get there but I hope that someday when asked the dreaded question of how many kids, I can simply tell them, I have four daughters.