I truly was enjoying our conversation at the playground. It was full of all the fluff and chit-chat I’ve come to appreciate as the mom of a young child. I find that these random mom meetings are a nice way to pass the time.

Then it happened.

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Unfortunately, I knew it probably would. You asked a common and seemingly innocent question: “Is she your oldest?” I knew it would have been simpler if I’d glossed over the question, and I could have answered several different ways, but I made the choice a long time ago to always answer this question honestly.

“No, she’s not my oldest. My oldest passed away shortly after birth.”

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The sweet look on your face faded. A look of horror, bewilderment and sorrow blended together before you were able to recompose yourself. I know that wasn’t the answer you expected, and I hate that in a split second our nice happy conversation suddenly shifted into an awkward moment. Silence lingered for a few seconds before you managed to mumble, “I’m so very sorry,” then glanced away.

As I turn to watch my daughter, ignoring the hovering silence, I wonder what you are thinking.

Although I’ll probably never know, I’m guessing you wished you hadn’t asked that question. I know I made you uncomfortable, and while part of me wants to apologize, the other part of me is unapologetic. I’m sure that sounds mean, but I don’t mind making you uncomfortable because my son, however brief his life, was important. He matters. He was cherished and dearly loved. His life had value, meaning and made an impact on this world. His life may have been limited due to his condition, but he still had life. That life is worth talking about, even if it makes others feel uncomfortable.

Although I knew it would make you uncomfortable, I didn’t really care. You see, I don’t just answer this way for myself and for my son, but because I know that many moms bear the burden of pregnancy and infant loss silently, too afraid to make others uncomfortable. This won’t end until we start breaking the silence. Moms won’t share until they know they can do so in a way that will be comfortably accepted by others.

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I don’t mind making you uncomfortable because, by mentioning my son, it also gives you the opportunity to share about the babies you might have lost, which has happened several times after sharing openly about my son. If you can overcome the sense of feeling uncomfortable, you will realize that through my openness and honesty I have created a safe place for you to share with me as well.

So next time we meet at the park and you see me sitting with my daughter playing in the sand, I hope you feel comfortable enough to talk to me again. I hope you are willing to ask me more questions, maybe even questions about my son. I’d love to share him with you. And if by chance you’re a loss momma, maybe you will feel comfortable enough to tell me about your children — all your children — even the ones you’ve lost.