three not two

It's been awhile since I've cried. The last time I did was during Joshua's memorial service. That was until three days ago. I know many of you may not agree with what I'm about to say, but we claim our children on our taxes. In order to claim them as a dependent, they must have a social security number. Well apparently when a child only lives for a few hours they don't issue one. So off we went to the social security office in search of this elusive number. Upon arriving at the friendliest place on earth, we were informed Joshua would never receive a number as he would never receive social security benefits. We were instructed to walk our behinds over to the IRS office and request a tax payer identification number. The equally sociable IRS agent (imagine a modern day Zacchaeus) declined our request and suggested we walk our behinds over to the social security office and request a number. After somewhat politely informing him we had just been there, he suggested we submit our taxes with a birth or death certificate to prove he was born this year. Thinking it would be a good idea to get birth certificates for all of the triplets, we journeyed to the county clerk's office where we met for the first time that afternoon a "civil" civil servant. After receiving all of the papers, we made a shocking discovery. Unbeknownst to us, and probably most people, when someone dies a person at the clerk's office stamps the word "deceased" in big red letters on their birth certificate. Apparently this particular government employee decided to make Joshua's birth certificate into a work of art by stamping it six times. Fast-forward to two days ago when I sat down for my yearly venture into the amazing world of Turbo Tax. After entering the other three boys' socials, I got to Joshua's info. I was fine filling it out until the last box where I was asked to type the word "died" in the blank space. At that exact moment, the song "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?" from Disney's recent movie Frozen came on our iTunes. If you're not familiar with the movie, this little girl named Anna is singing to her sister Elsa, or, as it was in my head, two little boys to their missing brother. The lyrics go like this:

(Anna) Do you wanna build a snowman? / 

Come on let's go and play / 

I never see you anymore /

 Come out the door / 

It's like you've gone away

We used to be best buddies / 

And now we're not / 

I wish you'd tell me why

Do you wanna build a snowman? / 

It doesn't have to be a snowman / 

(Elsa) Go away Anna / 

(Anna) Okay, 'bye

It didn't help that earlier that day while on my newly adapted public bus ride home from work, I had been looking out of the window at the passing scenery, realizing I'd never get to see the excitement on Joshua's face the first time he saw the ocean, a field full of cows, sky-reaching mountains, and the like.

There are days I don't think of him too much. Then there are days like the above where I can't stop thinking about him. We only knew him face-to-face for a few hours, and yet I'm reminded of him everywhere. He's in his brothers' smiles. He's in the way they sleep. He's in any giraffe I see, as the stuffed animal waiting for him at home with his name embroidered on it was a giraffe. He's in the bright blue of the blanket he was wrapped up in. He's in every bath we give our boys as I remember Tara washing his hair after he passed away. He's in the grip of our sons hands, the way Katy looks in certain light, or the shirt Nick or I wore that day. He's everywhere.

I don't mind talking about him. In fact I enjoy doing so. It helps me feel like I'm remembering him and not forgetting who he was. It reminds me I will see him again one day by the promises of Scripture.

And yet, there are times I don't like being reminded of him. Times I'm caught off guard and feel guilty for not thinking of him enough. Times I feel like I'm dishonoring the memory of him by not acknowledging his existence.

By this I mean when people use a certain word to describe David and Samuel: twins.

Ninety-nine percent of the people who call our earthly boys "twins" are well-intentioned and merely curious as to why there are two babies who look and dress similarly. We always get looks when we go out in public. Looks that seem to be saying, "Are those...yes they are!" or "That man and woman are carrying the same style infant car seat...wait a minute...could it be?" or my favorite with an open mouth "Ummm....huh? What's going on here???"

Part of me wants to be sarcastic when the question comes, creatively quipping something similar to what Bill Engvall would say and conclude with "here's your sign." But I haven't...yet.

So here's a typical response when we're out and about: "Are they twins?"

The first time I heard this I didn't know what to say. I was not prepared in the least bit for dealing with this question. I'm pretty sure, but I could be wrong, that a family who lost one of their twins don't get asked, "Is your baby a singleton?" It seems to me this awkward question is solely reserved for parents of more than one. No one told us that it was coming until it did. My initial response to this innocent inquisitor was, "No, they're triplets." Fortunately, the curious stranger just gave a quizzical look, said, "Oh," and walked away.

We have since dealt with many who are not-so-easily swayed. The question that usually follows after a silent head count is, "Well where's the third?" or "Is the other one hiding?" We used to go into way too much personal detail with the first few who asked, explaining exactly what happened to Joshua. We quickly realized we didn't want to make this innocent bystander uncomfortable so we began answering, "yes," to the question of twins.

Then the guilt settled in. We didn't have twins. We had triplets. They will always be triplets. Just because they lost one of their number does not change the fact that when they were born, Joshua and Samuel were identical and David was a fraternal triplet. Their birth certificates all read triplet. Every piece of hospital paperwork reads triplet. They are three, not two.

But how do you say this to a complete stranger? Do they really care? They're the ones who opened their mouths, attempting to be polite and engage the tired couple of two babies or just wanting to comment on a rare curiosity. We googled what people of multiples who lost one or more say. Some just succumbed to the new title. Others were sometimes rude about their response to these inquiring minds. One label stuck out to both Katy and I. It became our new answer.

Surviving triplets.

It seemed self-explanatory to us. Apparently it is not. This term has required us to go into more detail than when we used to just say they were triplets when asked. Katy is still using it frequently. I've taken a more direct approach.

When asked if the boys are twins, I politely say no, and continue about my business. It has worked brilliantly. Is it a little short? Sure. A little rude? Possibly. But I haven't made things awkward between the stranger and I and there is no guilt in claiming the boys are twins causing feelings of guilt for not discussing Joshua when given the chance.

There are times where I will talk about his passing, if the stranger is kind enough, but not often.

What we've learned from this debacle is that people are going to dig into your life, even when they shouldn't. It can't be helped. We can't change them, can't correct their behavior, all we can do is be kind to them and give them the benefit of the doubt.

Except in the case of a middle-aged woman Katy had the privilege of dealing with in the Costco parking lot.

Walking in opposite directions but close enough to speak to one another, the lady asked the customary, "Oh, are they twins?" Now what you must remember, is having two babies at home does not allow much room in the sleep department. When that is coupled with attempting to navigate Costco while also reigning in a five-year-old and comfort inconsolable screaming hungry infants, it makes for a not-so-patient momma. Katy, in her grace and mercy, answered the woman as she always does, by stating, "No, they're surviving triplets," and continued her expedition to the car. The woman, smarter than she spoke, realized what the term meant and, while turning to walk toward the building mumbled just loudly enough for Katy to hear, "Well that was awkward." Without missing a beat, the love of my life peeled off her normally kind-hearted spirit, turned on this unsympathetic human, and quipped, "Not as awkward as having your son die in your arms three hours after he was born, but hey, thanks for understanding."

I love my bride. Especially when she says things I would say.

The final piece to this enigma is interacting with friends and family who know what our situation is and call the boys twins. We know Joshua dying made you feel weird. It made us feel weird too. We also know most of us have never dealt with a family who gave birth to triplets and had one of them die. There's no right or wrong response to how the survivors would be labeled. It really will vary from family to family. Whatever the parents and eventually the survivors want to be called is what they should be called.

This whole ordeal has made us realize we can't judge those who have dealt with the loss of a child. Whether that loss was when the child was 60 and they were 80, or the child was 19 and the parents still had another one to love, or the mother miscarried, or the first ultrasound showed twins and a month later one "vanished." People have different ways of dealing with loss, grief, and sadness. If a family who's twin vanished called their babies twins for the rest of their lives, we have no room to judge. If another family next week had triplets, lost one, and wanted to call the survivors twins, then hey, that's what we should do.

It could be it hit us so hard because Joshua and Samuel were the identicals and the ones we thought we might end up calling the twins, and Samuel and David look similar but not exactly alike. I'm not sure. Either way, whenever someone calls them twins, we are instantly taken back to the hospital and are faced head-on with the grim reality that we don't have three living babies. We recognize we are extremely blessed to have two healthy baby boys at home and we try not to take that for granted, but we greedily and selfishly wish we had all three here on earth. We're thankful for the time we had with all of our boys, but wish that time was longer.

That being said, we aren't upset with people who have called our boys twins. We know it has never been to hurt us and we've never clarified what we want to call them so how could anyone know what was right and wrong to say? (One point of clarification, this post was originally written on Friday night, long before my conversation with anyone at church and I told them as much this morning, just so there is no misunderstanding) Our label for them, when talking about David and Samuel, is "the boys." If you want to call them the boys or the triplets that's fine with us. Both work. It may be confusing and we're sorry for that. You may disagree with us, but the fact of the matter is they will always be triplets, even if there are only two of them left. But for now, until we are all reunited, they are our boys.