Only
December 5, 2009We're walking home from school.
"I was thinking," Henry says. "I was thinking it would be good to have a little brother."
I can't help but picture it. Henry holding a little boy's hand, guiding him as he toddles down the sidewalk next to us. He would have been such an excellent big brother.
"Or a sister," he says. "Yeah, actually? I think I want a sister. Because I like the girls I'm related to. So I think if I had a sister, I would like that."
I am murmuring noncommittally. "Huh!"I say. "Hmm!"
"So," he adds, looking at me, "can I get one?"
"I don't think it's in the cards for us, sweetie," I finally say.
"What does that mean, in the cards?"
"It means I don't think it's going to happen."
"That's okay," he says quickly. "That's fine. I was just thinking. "
I try to point out the advantages of being an only child. The quality time with us. He does not appear convinced.
"It could be fun, though," he says.
"Yes," I agree. "It could be."
*
When we made the move back to the city from the suburbs, part of it was because we realized we weren't going to try again. There are so many reasons, and if I give them, I'm afraid someone's going to pop up in the comments to argue that our reasons aren't good enough. "Oh, you can still have a second even if X!" this imaginary person might say. "My precious miracle came about even though we also thought Y and Z and you might be the same way so keep on trying!"
No. It's not going to happen.
And I am sorry. I am. It's so much more satisfying for everyone else, to have a successful pregnancy after a miscarriage. It's expected. You keep on trying, and then eventually you get pregnant and it all works out and the miscarriage becomes an unfortunate blip in your otherwise upbeat narrative. I realize that this is kind of a bummer.
*
Henry hasn't asked about a sibling for a long, long while--long before I had the miscarriage. It's interesting that it's come up for him now, just as my essay appeared in The Sun and I've been sort of overwhelmed by the feelings stirred up by the publication and its response.
I have to admit, I feel a little strange about all these Sun readers emailing me, responding as if I still feel the pain of the miscarriage as acutely as I did back when the essay was written. I wrote it well over a year ago, and when I finished, I felt like I had exorcised something. I exorcised it and saved it in a Word file and then I was free. And now all these people are expressing their sympathy, when that pain has dulled to an occasional ache, and I feel like I'm pretending to be something I'm not. Like I need to tell them they've made a mistake.
Then as I'm responding to them, something bursts open. All that pain I thought I had purged, that deep, awful well. It's right there, and I want to scream. Then I want to thank all these people who wrote to me, because part of me was afraid it was gone. Nope, still there. I still miss that baby I thought I was going to have. That baby who would have been one year old just a couple of weeks ago.
So many people writing to me want me to know about the children they had after their miscarriages. The happy endings they wish for me. I know they're hoping to make me feel better, I get that, but all I can think is, there won't be a second for me. And then I think: because I'm too selfish.
I am ashamed. Because I've made a decision, and at the heart of it, I made it for me. Scott and I made it for us. And for Henry, but who can really say what's best for him, at this point? I'm afraid we're doing Henry a disservice. That we're leaving him alone as we get older and more helpless, that we're depriving him of a soulmate and ally, someone to build forts with or whatever else I imagine he'd do with a sibling when I'm really beating myself up over my decision.
I wonder if he'll forgive us. I wonder if he'll hate us for it. I wonder if he'll be glad.
Of course I know, rationally, that only children can be happy and successful. I know that Henry's happy and well-adjusted and loved beyond measure. I do.
But it keeps coming up. They think I'm selfish, I think, when other parents ask me if Henry is an "only." Stingy. Not willing to spread myself just a little too thin. I want to give them my reasons. My very good, well-considered reasons. But I'm afraid they'd argue that those reasons aren't enough.
Henry is not an only, I want to say. Henry is enough. Can't that be the question? "So, was Henry enough for you?" I could confirm that without a trace of shame.
Just look at him, I could say.
Look at my boy. Look at all that I have.
Reader Comments (245)
It's hard to convey well in a blog comment from a stranger, but I'm sending lots of love from the West Coast.
Then again, he has a younger female friend who he is very sisterly with and it is a real blessing for him to feel like a protective older brother to her, and I know she appreciates that too. They are not related, they just found a sibling-like role that worked beautifully for them both. Who needs relatives?! x
Also, I have had a miscarriage too. And it sucked, big time. It still sucks now when I think about it. And whenever you write about your experience I so appreciate it. I read what you have to write and I just nod and say "yes,yes".
I'm sure you've noticed that Alice and her husband love Henry very, very much. I don't think they will be surrendering him for adoption at any point in the future.
Why on earth would you think this is an appropriate question?
Do what you think is right for you and your family, no one can ask more from you.
You can't know what the dynamics between Henry and any other sibling would have been, and therefore you can't assume that a sibling would have enriched his life.
it's all so hard and so confusing and i think we only all do the best we can with the lives and situations we're given. your beautiful boy is more than enough and don't feel that someone else's experience is what you should be having...
I think the people who need their own choices validated by you imitating them are the selfish ones.
Having been through a couple of miscarriages, I wouldn't wish it on anyone else.
People will always say stupid things. I had two girls, four years apart (because of the miscarriages) and I can't begin to tell you the number of times I heard how I needed to try to have "my boy" (for the first time when my first was all of 9 weeks old!) or was asked why on earth I had the girls so far apart as if it were a stupid choice.
You've made the right choice for you. And if you change your mind, that's your business, too.
On the bright side, I have a healthy, energetic, charming & loving daughter-and that is enough.
When people comment on why I don't try for another, I really don't get into any details. Those who know me know why. For everyone else, I just say, "One and done," and that stops further comments.
Also, there will always be people who don't know why you would decide to do what you decide to do. There will always be people who don't understand. Who think you are selfish.
I was the oldest child of two, and depending on the time period, I wished either for a big family or no siblings at all. My brother and I don't even speak now, and as much as I wish for someone left in my family who could be my sibling in that way you see in movies, all conspiratorial and loving, that's not always how it works.
What I mean to say is, you may not be depriving him of anything. And he has two parents who love him immeasurably. And how wonderfully awesome is that!?
You are the only one who gets to decide that for your family, and no one else has a right to question it. Let others think what they want. It's not their life-- it's YOURS. And YOUR family. No one else's. No one else's decision.
I realize this might not mean much as a complete stranger living on the opposite coast, but I wish I could give you a hug.