I hate this freaking question. Of course, the answer to myself is always and forever TWO beautiful boys. And when Max *first* died, I had a need to tell EVERYONE about the fact that my son was killed in a car accident including the clerk at the grocery store, the nail shop lady, and anyone else who would make eye contact with me.
This "question" is a topic of discussion in every grief group I have attended.
But today, nearly 11 months later, it caught me off guard as I was getting my hair cut. The lady cutting my hair was making small talk and asked me this question, and I just simply answered my standard "two boys". Then she asked me how old they were. "um ... 18 and 16" (let's see, Max had a birthday where he should have been 19, so I am already wishing I didn't answer in this way).
I have learned with time that sometimes it's just easier *not* to tell someone that my son was killed in a car accident. I always get some kind of violent reaction where I then end up comforting them, or it kills the conversation completely.
So then she asks when the 18 year old graduated. (That I can answer without discomfort) "2010". Is he going to college somewhere? At this point, I am wishing that I *had* killed the conversation completely because I am squirming and sick of answering her stupid questions. I answered "Bethany College", and she asked what he was majoring in ... grrrrr. I kept trying to change the subject and I finally just closed my eyes while she cut my hair and pretended to be "resting"!!
Why did I walk away from there feeling like I had lied to her? I will never see her again! I am amazed at how often this question is a standard "small talk" question. I used to consider it "safe", but not anymore. I *never* ask anyone how many kids they have! So strange the things that change when you have a child die.
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