sex, death and Santa

Photo from here...

There are some topics taboo in childhood. Topics which we attempt to ignore and gloss over for children. We feel they don't need to know....yet.

But when a child has had to bear witness to the truth, then what?

"I told Ryan all about how Daddy died," my five year old son, Briar, proudly told me as he sat on the toilet behind me. "That way, he'll know how it feels when his daddy dies."

I froze, mid-mascara stroke, attempting to come up with an appropriate reply. I was pleased that he was so comfortable communicating about such an emotion-filled topic. But I was also worried that his actions would concern Ryan's family when the little boy had multiple sleepless nights filled with angst imagining the death of his own father.

"Wow, honey," I answered after a long pause, "that was very.... thoughtful of you.....What did Ryan say when you told him about it?"

By now, Briar was absentmindedly staring at the pattern in the lino on the bathroom floor. "He just listened and didn't say anything much."

I was struck with the thought that, much like sex and Santa, death or mortality is a topic that parents want to have with their own children. They don't want some kid announcing it nonchalantly on the school bus or while playing Lego. It's hinted at in our culture...But rarely stated so bluntly as my sweet little boy did.

I can and will assure Ryan's parents that Briar's topic of conversation came from a kind and innocent place. And I know from knowing Ryan's parents that they will most likely be completely fine with this....But what about next time?

Will other parents shift in their chairs and glance at each other uncomfortably across the dinner table when their son or daughter comes home from school with questions about the imminence of their death? Will they be upset that the cat is out of the bag? Or will they be pleased that the topic has come up? Should I explain to Briar that this is something that parents want to talk to their little ones about when they are ready? Or should I just let Briar's well-meant lessons on life show others that families come in all shapes and sizes and backgrounds?

Grief, Parenting, and Coping

Parenting is both overwhelmingly rewarding, and unrelentingly challenging. Some days we glow with pride at the accomplishments of our little angels; other days we may wonder how our best laid plans went awry. Sharing parental duties with a wonderful partner definitely helps manage the roller coaster ride we call parenthood…there is someone to discuss options with, another person who loves the kids as much you do to listen to your rant about their current behavior, an additional carpool driver, and someone else to go over the math homework.

But for widowed parents the time we have to raise our children with the person we love is cut tragically short. For widowed people with children the common concerns of parenthood are eclipsed by the shadow of grief. Questions of which diaper to use are replaced by fears of whether our kids will remember mommy or daddy. Some children’s first written words are, “Why did my daddy or mommy have to die?” Nine year olds may apply the extra emotion of loss to the smallest disappointment leading to angry tantrums fueled by missing their other parent. Teenage angst, scary territory under the best of circumstances, is greatly complicated by the tumult of death and loss. Perhaps the heaviest weight for widowed parents to carry is the fact that we often provide the road map for our children that shows them how to grieve. Do we cry? Do we say our loved one's name? Do we remember aloud? Do we continue our regular routines? Do we shut down, speed up, or spin in place?

I am continually amazed at the fact that widowed parents must survive the searing pain of losing a partner, and also assume the role of only parent. Each family’s route to healing is unique, but some common themes may help pave the way. Seek a compassionate family counselor. Join a group that addresses death and grief in age appropriate forums. Find ways to help your children store their memories. Honestly access your financial situation. Accept help when it is offered. Know that you have limits and you have needs. Allow your friends and family to drive carpool, help with homework, and buy groceries; they want to help. Try to arrange time away from the kids to sob and rage without witnesses. Cry in the shower. Know that children grieve in a new way at every developmental stage. Live in the moment and try to let tomorrow take care of itself. And finally, laugh, play, paint, watch a funny movie, blow bubbles~ let the inherent joy of your children be a balm for your family soul.

Ezra's Pain

As my world stabilizes.

As I look forward, instead of back

As I feel the earth rooting me, it is exactly as the grief people said it will be.

"Many young children hold onto their grief until the surviving parent is able to cope. And then...."

.....hell breaks loose.

I see them, beyond me. They have changed from "one more thing to deal with" to "how can I help them."

Ezra, in my room casually throwing himself aggressively on my bed in that boy manner says,

"Mom, have you ever thought about suicide?"

My heart does not skip.

I do not turn to him, startled. I have been warned.

His bereavement group leader called before the holidays. "He talked about wanting to die. This is not uncommon. Some kids long to see the dead parent so much they think suicide is a way to do it. However, Ezra kept repeating it. I told him this was very serious and that I would be talking with you. I think this goes beyond him just wanting to see his dad."

"Can a 7 year old be suicidal?" I ask incredulously.

"Yes they can" she informs.

I am silent. I took the information in and let it swirl around in my head during winter break.

Seeing if he showed any signs of depression. Nothing till now.

Suddenly I have the mother self-conscious awareness of the power of my words, aware that I have to keep this open. Oddly I am not scared.

"Yes I have Ezra. Do you feel like committing suicide?" my voice even.

"Yes" he says. I turn to my closet, picking up a pair of shoes to put away. Do not make this seem like a "talk" I think. He is a boy, I must stay in motion.

"Why?" I ask hanging clothes in my closet.

"Everyone talks about daddy and I don't like it. I don't like talking OR hearing about him. I like pretending that I never had a father."

"Are the feelings that come up scary?" I can no longer resist. I sit on the bed and look at him.

"Yes, they are." he replies in a squished voice as he answers mid summersault.

"For me, I sometimes feel like I can't possible get passed them. I sometimes feel like dying would be better than feeling them." And I swallow because every word I say is TRUE!

He starts into another summersault, but glances in my direction. Searching? Seeing if I'm telling the truth?

"When?" he asks.

"On Tuesday." I reply reflecting how recently my grief seldom side swipes me during the day.

How long has it been since they have seen me cry over Art?

He looks at me and...

yells "Pallas, do you want to play...."

He leaps of the bed as if he just remembered there's bread in the oven and dashes out of the room.

I am left on the bed inbetween crying and courage, dumbfounded.

I am sure of only one thing I am finally grief-less enough to help him.

Take It All

We are all at a standstill. You and me.

You poised to help, not knowing what to do.

Me, on the other side, wanting help, not knowing what to ask for.

Art’s presence has been with me all day.

I just stood in my kitchen crying.

Pallas looking on, hugging me.

"This is so hard." I said

'I miss him too, Mommy." she said.

And I want dinner delivered tonight… food that I would feed them.

And I want my kids fed and washed and put to bed… the way I put them to bed.

And I want the bills paid…the way I pay them

And I want someone to take away his music. I want to hear nothing.

And I want someone to take away his clothes, his everything.

If I can get to the nothing, the longing will go away. The hope that, maybe this time, when I walk into our bedroom, he’ll be there bald and laughing, will disappear.

I want to erase all this.

It won’t hurt if it’s gone.

Fuck.

Whose Name?

Whose name

do I put

on the school forms for the kids

in the space

where it says...

In Case of Emergency?

---

The 11th day is 6.5 hours from being over.

I am not dressed. I did not do my hair. I have not put on my contact lenses.

I wear a pair of Uggs, sweatpants, a long john shirt and a fleece. The plumber will just have to deal with it.

I do not want visitors. I do not want to go out. I am sure that if I open his closet and smell him, I will stay in it until my back hurts or the kids come home.

I sat in the living room today, opening cards and crying. I napped and dreamt my daughter almost died.

I've lost all of his memories, his half of the kids. Our reactions to poopy diapers, temper tantrums, funny word orders. I don't remember them all. Now, part of my children's lives are gone. Part of who they were has just disappeared.

Those thoughts, comments, memories, all the things that I couldn't remember about our kids are gone. They went with him.

This is what they mean by lonely. I had no idea.