My son has asked me “Where is my sister?”  Given that he doesn’t have one, it’s quite the existential interrogative for a person whose life revolves around Hot Wheels and superheros. Indeed, where is she? Such a loaded question from a boy who is apt to ask a thousand mindless ones.

What do I tell him? I usually will answer his questions as honestly and thoroughly as possible, knowing that with each answer, more questions are likely to fire like sparkplugs on a well-tuned sports car.

This answer is quite layered. How deep do I go?

Do I tell him we had your sister growing in Mommy’s belly and she died… twice? Should I avouch that God capriciously took away his chance at community? Certainly, that can o’ worms should remain closed.

Should I tell him that Mommy takes medicine, and we can’t make a sister now because she could come out sick? Surely, that is just a softball of a question begging the retort “What kind of medicine.  What kind of sick?”

Or should I tell him the real reason. Mommy and Daddy are selfish and lazy. They don’t want to go through that whole ordeal again, the diapers, the late nights, and all the crap (quite literally) that comes with it.

Should I add that it is probably for the better he doesn’t have the sister in question, because a new child could likely mean a new pecking order that would tread heavily on his gilded, roistering youth.

Should I tell him that it’s his fault… That we already have one, perfect little creation, and we don’t want to tempt fate with another child.  Should I tell that we don’t really deserve the love and joy that he’s provided, and that deep down, another child would likely be the leveling impulsion that would bring karma back into equilibrium? Nah… then I’d have to explain “equilibrium” to him, and I’m not sure that’s something I can do.

Should I just I tell him what I really want to tell him… that I wish we could give him that sibling that he’s requisitioned… that we’ve failed him as parents by robbing him of the bond of blood, the kinship of spirit he deserves. Should I tell him that twenty years from now, that he won’t have have mutual stories to share, and that he may be emotionally guarded because of the solemnity that he’s had to endure? Should I tell him that his ménage of one will lead to expanses of emptiness in his lifetime, voids that those with brothers and sisters will never know?

Should I tell him that, despite our best intentions, we will be spiraling downward in a vortex of mental, physical and financial anemia, and that, along with progeny, the burden of our ailing selves will be laid squarely and heavily on his shoulders alone?… That’s a lot to handle for a five year old.

In truth, it is these answers that are loaded more than the question. Though, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea how I’ll answer him the next time he begs “Where is my sister?” It’s after careful consideration that I will tell him frankly, and in earnest, in a reflective and lugubrious tone, “I don’t know buddy… I just don’t know.”