Questions, questions, . . .

   "And how many children do you have?"  Simple, innocent question . . . unless you've buried a child.  Then, what do you say? 
   The first time after Allison died that I heard that question, I was stunned and speechless.  I have two kids; I have two beautiful daughters . . .so, I finally said "two".  And, of course, people who ask that question don't really know you, so the next question is, "Oh, that's nice.  How old are they?"  Now, it's really tricky.  "Well, my daughter, Bethany, is seven, and my other daughter died recently and is in heaven."  Next come the embarrassed, pained expressions accompanied by apologies . . . and I end up reassuring the questioner that it's okay (even though I'm not)! 
   After experiencing several similar exchanges, I came up with a planned response.   I would never imply that Allison hadn't existed; I could never say that I only had one child, but sharing the loss of my precious child with someone who couldn't handle it felt a little like "casting my pearls before swine". So, if the questioner was someone with whom I expected to have a friendship or working relationship, I would tell her that I had two children and then share a little of Allison's story; otherwise, I would simply reply, "I have a seven year old daughter."  Now, over 20 years later, I easily respond with a little about my beautiful daughter and her precious family and my talented son, but Allison is never far from my mind.
   "How do you do it?"  Now, that's a question I'll never understand, seeing as how I didn't exactly have a choice.  What's the only alternative to surviving, because that's about all I managed to do for a few years after Allison died?  Now, I can testify to the grace of God and patience of family and friends, but when the pain of loss was fresh, I had no answer to that question.
   "How are you?'"  "Why do we always answer 'fine' to that question?  We lie because we don't want to burden people; then, in the quiet of the night, we sob," a dear friend texted me last night.  I don't have an answer for that one, either.  But, I do know that we need at least one person in this life that can truly walk with us and hear all the pain, confusion, anger, and grief jumbled inside (and I highly recommend good grief support groups)! 
   What kind of questions do you struggle with?