I’ve been asked this multiple times since Lincoln died. Each time digs the grief blade in a little bit further.
What I want to say is Three. I have three kids but only two of them are alive. I have two sons and a daughter but I’ll never get to know my son. In fact my son shouldn’t even be born for another two and a half months. He should be healthy and kicking away in me. He should be making me pee every 20 minutes, making me so tired that I don’t even know how I am going to get through finals, making my pelvis feel so full and open. I should be looking forward to doctors appointments and buying him things. I should be starting a birthing course and hiring a doula. I should be stocking up on cloth diapers because we were going to give it a real go this time.
Instead I quietly say two and turn my head. I close my eye, take a deep breath and try to keep myself from breaking down.