This week I've been watching a show that revolves around the untimely death of a young teen girl. As I have been watching I've had many epiphanies about my own experience as well as such a connection with what the parents have experienced.

I remember the first time a stranger asked me how many kids I have after we had lost Ashley. I was dumbfounded. I really wasn't sure how to answer. Should I tell them right away about my 2 living children and the one who had passed? Should I simply say I have three and pray they don't ask the ages? Do I leave her out and only say 2? Sometimes this is the simplest answer, but it somehow just feels wrong. All of this goes through my mind every single time someone asks. It is the hardest question I will ever be asked for the rest of my own life.
After the loss of a child there are many much more difficult moments. There are times when the world feels like it is falling out from under you. There are moments you stop and just freeze, like the first time you have to walk through a section of the store that used to be only for that child, the first time shopping for a friend's child wishing you were shopping for yours, hearing a song that was their song, and so many others. But it will never cease to amaze me that the hardest question I'll probably ever be asked again is "How many children do you have?"
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