The Most Painful Question

{ This is hard stuff to share. Vulnerable stuff. Complicated grief at its best. But it’s part of the process. And the process is messy. I don’t always know how my faith and grief fit together. But I do know that God’s grace is sufficient in my weakness and confusion. He is faithful to love me in the midst of the hard stuff. } 

My husband says that I could make friends with a brick wall. I love meeting people. Love hearing their stories. Love relating. Love creating heart connections. Crowds? No problem. Strangers? I embrace them (quite literally). Having meaningful conversations? Yes, please.

But lately I feel guarded. I feel a lot less like a social butterfly and much more like a wallflower in certain situations – hiding, avoiding, averting… Fearful and paranoid that an acquaintance or a stranger will ask me the most painful question of all.

How many children do you have?

I freeze. It stops me in my tracks, leaving me with a seemingly eternal split second to decide how to answer. I battle internally, never knowing what to say.

Do I answer honestly? Do I tell them that Caleb is my oldest but my second child, my precious daughter, fought bravely for 20 days until her struggling body ceased to work? Do I tell them how beautiful she was? Her deep blue eyes. Her squishy cheeks. Her wispy hair. Or that she fit perfectly in the crook of my arm and she loved to snuggle on my chest? Do I share about her injuries and the countless times we suctioned her secretions because she didn’t know how to swallow? Or talk about the tubes that permanently tethered her to a plastic bed because she couldn’t breathe on her own? Do I try to explain the gut-wrenching decisions we faced when considering her prognosis and quality of life? Do I need to justify our decision to a stranger?

Honesty is always the right choice.

Isn’t it?

I should see it as a beautiful opportunity to share about the hope and peace that we find through Christ.

But instead, I lie.

Because it’s easier to lie. It spares my heart the agony of saying the worst words that have ever left the mouth of a parent: My daughter died. And there’s no euphemism that softens the blow. Believe me. I’ve tried to think of a “polite” way to say it. I have a child in heaven, while a true statement, feels too fluffy to me. I have one child at home and one in my heart doesn’t do it justice either. The bottom line is, there’s no gentle segue for such crushing news, and there’s definitely no way to repair the conversation after such news is shared. Moreover, I don’t want to become a sobbing mess at the playground while I’m pushing Caleb on the swing. Or have an emotional breakdown in the grocery store checkout line.

So I lie.

And every time I lie, I feel like I’ve dishonored Evelyn, treating her as if her life didn’t matter. I hate that. But my heart cannot withstand the pain of answering the question honestly and reliving my darkest reality with someone that I don’t even know.

A few weeks ago, I met a wonderful lady at a community event. We enjoyed pleasant conversation, and as she was telling me about her two children, she also shared about her stillborn child and her ten miscarriages. The world stopped. I wanted to wrap her in a hug and cry and say, I can relate. My daughter died. You’re not alone.

But instead, I told her how sorry I was for her heartache.

Maybe some day I’ll find the courage, the vulnerability, the strength to share honestly with anyone who asks.

But for now, I feel like all I can do is pray for God’s grace to sustain me as I fumble through an answer.

And maybe some day when Caleb asks me to draw a picture of our family on the driveway with sidewalk chalk, I’ll draw Evelyn too.

But in this present moment, it’s not always clear how her life and memory fit into some of my everyday moments. I don’t know how to translate my love and grief into chalk pictures and answering strangers’ questions.

It’s not easy. And I guess that’s okay. Grief never is.

2 thoughts on “The Most Painful Question

  1. Sarah,thank you for sharing. It is hard. Ive struggled with the same thing. I dont like to leave out my baby we miscarried. But people dont know how to respond. And recently when my oldest, 8yr old, hears me say I have 3 kids he points out to me and the person I am talking to that I have 4, that Jordan is in heaven. So I embrace it and I dont care what or how people respond. I speak to what makes my heart happy and leaves me with no guilt. God will contiue to direct and comfort you on your journey. She will never be far from your mind and heart and yes is and always will be an important part of your life. Grief is a strange and difficult thing. Thank goodness we have the Creator of all life to walk us through it. Love you sweet sister.

    Liked by 1 person

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