Ask, and You Shall Receive (an Honest Answer)

Earlier this week I was asked a very specific question about my role as a mother. I am not close to the asker, who, incidentally, also showed up at our front door two or three days after Weston died to offer condolences. I would not recommend doing that EVER, unless you are very close to the bereaved person, yet I acknowledge that this person meant well.

With that being said, IF you showed up on my doorstep right after my child died and later you specifically ask how my day-to-day life as a mother is going, I'm going to assume you want a real answer. I would also imagine you would understand that I am still very sad thirteen months after his death.

So I gave a very brief version of the truth: my daughter is amazing, she just turned four, things are going OK, but my LIFE AS A MOTHER is hard because I miss my son.

The response: "Oh, I wasn't referring to THAT."

THAT. That thing, that nuisance, that uncomfortable elephant in the room that should simply be a footnote in my life. Not a person, not a child. Well, I've been feeling a little feisty lately, so I very very politely responded that MY SON is always on my mind and that he, like my daughter, is an enormous part of my life and how I'm doing.

How are you? When asked that question by the grocery store cashier, the neighbor driving by, or the check-in people at the gym, I'll simply say, "I'm fine." The question is filler, nothing more than a common courtesy, and I know the person really doesn't care how I, or anyone else, is doing.

But, silly me for assuming that if someone takes the time to walk up to me, ask me how things are going as specifically applied to my role as a MOTHER, that they want an honest answer.

Sometimes I really am fine. Rarely, I have moments where I can honestly answer, "I'm doing well." But, in general, I am having a very hard time. Why is that so uncomfortable to hear? There wouldn't be anything wrong with my answer if, say, Weston had moved away to college.

It would never be appropriate to single out a member of someone's family as not being worthy of discussion. "How are your kids doing?" "Oh, Oldest Child just started third grade, Middle Child is in first grade, and Youngest--". "Oh, I wasn't referring to Youngest Child. I don't give a damn about her." So why is appropriate to pretend the deceased member of the family does not exist?

This person just should have ignored me. He could have easily pretended he didn't see me. It hurts when people avoid me, but at least they are being honest with themselves that they are not up to the task of witnessing my pain. Ignoring me is so much better than blatantly dismissing my son as unworthy of discussion in a conversation about my family.

In case you can't tell, this conversation really, really got to me, which is ridiculous because this person is not really a part of my life. But, if Weston were alive, people would ask about him all the time, and I can't dismiss the unfairness of his death erasing him from conversation and consideration.

Weston's death doesn't change the fact that he is my son.

His death doesn't change the fact that I am his mother.

His death doesn't change the fact that he is loved, cherished, and just as worthy of conversation as Caroline.

I can talk about Weston without crying sometimes. I wouldn't have answered the question in the way that I did if I had been on the verge of tears. I'm really, really not trying to make people feel uncomfortable. But parents think about their kids all the time. They talk about their kids. Especially if they are asked about them. I am no exception.

If you don't really want to know how someone is doing, or even if you just don't have time to talk, don't ask. I, for one, won't be offended. Or, you could ask something really specific, like, "What are you doing today?" I'm way past the point of answering, "Picking up my son's ashes," or "Ordering my son's death certificate," so the answer to that question would likely be completely benign.

These encounters will continue, I'm sure. And they will continue to deflate me. But, at least I have a flip side.

We had some friends over for Caroline's birthday. It was happily chaotic: kids running around, lots of noise, too much sugar, a piñata, etc. And I sat there with my friends and talked about Weston completely casually, like I would have if he were crawling around at the party. Granted, the conversation was geared more toward bed rest and perinatologists, because my friend needed some information for her pregnant friend. But, after the dust settled, I thought about how blessed I am to have friends just nonchalantly talk about Weston at my daughter's birthday party. Like I'm a normal mom with two kids. I love it when BOTH of my children are treated normally.

So, for every boneheaded encounter, there is another one (or ten) that warms my heart. There are insensitive people who have to be in my life for one reason or another, so I have to hear insensitive comments. But I'll continue to respond as I did the other day; I will always have Weston's back. He will always matter.

(As an aside, I know I sound angry. I AM angry. But even though I speak the truth to people who say stupid things, I speak it nicely. I explode later: to my family, friends, or in a blog post.)

And thankfully, Weston will always matter to the people who matter to me.