The Six-Pack Diabetic

Our recent trip to southern California concluded with a visit to the National Cemetery in Riverside. My dad was buried there in 2013 along with my older brother, Daniel, who had been there since 1981.

I struggled unexpectedly to explain who Daniel was to my older two. “Unexpectedly” because I knew my dad wasn’t there - only his body. “Unexpectedly” because Daniel’s death happened years before I was born.

Daniel was stillborn at nine months gestation. On the surface, it’s easy to understand. However, if they’re like me, it will be some time before they fully comprehend what that means.

It was devastating to my family. To come home from the hospital empty handed. For two parents who have to explain to three young children that there is no baby after all. For my dad, who came in from an assignment overseas for the delivery and burial, to leave the next day.

On one hand, I wouldn’t want my children to understand it at their age. It’s too heavy. On the other hand, I want them to be safe. I want them to know how much they are loved, and how much they were (and still are) wanted.