..when we meet in the supermarket line or the at the queue for the museum and you look down at my expanding middle and ask, “is it your first?” Or when we are sitting together at a little picnic bench at the park with our children and you comment that there will be a big age gap between my two.
I want to tell you that this will be my third child but that my precious son died suddenly leaving us heartbroken and distraught. I want to tell you that the gap between my children was just two years and that they were the best of friends, playing lego and football together right up until the day he left. I want to tell you all about my amazing little boy and how his big blue eyes sparkled with mischief when he cheated at monopoly. I want you to hear about how smart he was and how much life he had in him until it was cut short just before Christmas. And when you ask if my daughter is looking forward to being a big sister I want you to know she is already a big sister and that she is slowly coming to terms with the role of only-child again. As for the age gap, well that isn’t something that we carefully engineered, but that life isn’t all neat and tidy like a family planner on a kitchen wall, well organised and easily maintained.
I don’t tell you any of this though. Instead I smile and tell you that this will be my third child without offering any more details. I don’t want to ruin your day with a sad story or over share with you as you go about your business. I know that the question is rhetorical and you don’t really want to hear all about my pain but I am tortured by my response for the rest of the day. I kick myself for failing to take the opportunity to say his name or tell someone that he was here and that he mattered.