And One With Wings

Dear Rachel,

I’ve noticed that I have quite a problem with tenses these days. That’s not surprising, really; we’ve talked a bit about it with our local grief support group and it seems to be a common thing.

And really, tense is at the heart of the problem when someone asks the question that we all dread: “So, how many children do you have?” Among those of us who have lost children, that’s referred to as The Question: No parent of a deceased child wants to hear it, because the answer—no matter how it’s phrased—is going to be painful. What do we say? “Well, we had two, but now we only have one.” No, that doesn’t work. And if we just say, “We have two” or “We have one,” both answers ignore the fact that one of our kids has died. Isn’t that the same as pretending that everything is as it was? Or that you never existed? We could never do that.

One of our grief group members has a beautiful answer, but I can’t bring myself to use it because I don’t believe it. When The Question comes up, she responds, “I have two, one with feet and one with wings.”

Oh, I wish I could buy into that. If it were true, you’d definitely have wings, Rachel. You’d have the biggest, most beautiful wings anyone had ever seen. They’d shine alabaster-white in the sun, I know they would. They’d be stippled by iridescent flecks of green and blue that would flash in the sky as you soared above us all. You’d be just as beautiful after death as you were in life.

I don’t believe that, of course. No wings. No angels. No hope for an eventual reunion. I can't believe in all of that. I’ve never in my life so wanted to be wrong about something.

Love,

Dad