Sometimes I think that we have this glowing black shadow that follows us. The majority of people can’t see it, but anyone who has ever lost a child can see it. They know it is there.
It seems that no matter where my husband and I go, someone sees it. As my husband said, “They always find us, don’t they?”
Yes, yes they do.
We had to run to Home Depot to get a new register vent, the old one was rusting. I didn’t want my rainbow to get hurt on it (as if I wasn’t already paranoid enough about every little bump or scratch.. worried it might kill him).
As we went to check out, the lady at the register just couldn’t keep her hands off Dex. It was honestly making me a bit uncomfortable. I don’t like strangers touching him. Anyway, she asked how old he was and I told her 19 months. They then told me she had 7 children. I felt a bit gutted by the number. A number I will never ever be able to reach due to infertility. She then blurted out, almost like word vomit, that 4 were girls that died.
I just looked at her for a second, she then got uneasy and didn’t know why she said that. I calmly placed my hand on Dex’s head and messed with his hair saying, “I lost two girls. Twin daughters in the NICU.”
No more was exchanged on the subject. She didn’t seem to want to talk any more about it and I wasn’t about to push her.
As my husband said, “They always see to find us, don’t they?”
There has to be some sort of unspoken knowing. It seems like every time we go somewhere new, or take a trip, someone opens up to us without knowing we lost two daughters. Or they tell us about their loss(es) when they ask us THAT question.
“Is he your only child?”
I always tell the truth.
Only living. It kind of leaves it open in case someone wants to ask further questions if they want. Or it gives them an easy out if it would be too awkward for them.
“How many children do you have?”
3. 2 in our hearts and 1 in our arms.
Someone, the baby loss community just knows.