Two Months

There's a winter wonderland outside; no snow on the ground, but little flakes coming down all day, and we woke to whitewashed icy tree branches. Truly beautiful.

Things are good. My husband and I still have monthly talks with the psychologist at the hospital to prevent things taking a nosedive. I still have occasional days where I cry inconsolably and wonder how all this could have happened. The wound feels more sore, not less, but I'm told that's right on target.

I filled out next year's calendar and didn't know what to do when I got to my daughter's birthday. She won't be turning 17. I left the date unmarked. Later I went back and added "Meghan 17" and, on October 21, "Meghan †."

On November 25 I sat beside a father and his two daughters in the train back from Amsterdam. They'd been visiting friends from England and the girls had gotten many little gifts. After we'd chatted a while, the youngest, probably 8 or so, pulled out a cheery pair of gloves with little girl faces and hair knitted onto each finger. Her dad suggested, "You should wear them to school tomorrow." The girl frowned, unsure whether her friends might find them childish. I said, "I have a girl about your age at home who'd love to have those gloves and definitely wouldn't find them childish." The father asked me, "Oh, so you have daughters too?" I didn't know what to say.

I was prepared for "Oh, so you have kids too?" and "Oh, so you have a daughter too?" and "Oh, how old is your daughter?" But not "daughters." I paused nearly a full minute, and then I just explained it. Said I was sorry to suddenly dump all that in his lap, but it was still fresh and apparently I hadn't yet figured out what to say when these things came up.

My husband and I have talked about that, what to say when these things come up. How many kids do we have when people ask? I've decided I have 4 (including the one in utero), whether I'm speaking with transient strangers or budding friends. To say anything else will make me feel like I'm omitting something, and at least now, glossing over her life and death for the sake of others' possible comfort will be doing myself a disservice.