We Can Learn From the Way Children Grieve

I didn’t post at all last month and I know there were a lot of dates and celebrations and anniversaries I could have given some sort of report on, but I didn’t want to. I did create a Women’s Support Group for widows. My youngest turned 6. But it was a heavy month. Another revealing month. I had my wedding anniversary, Matt’s one year death mark, and the date of his funeral. This has been the longest year of my life that somehow feels like it only started yesterday. I can’t even begin to explain all the hurdles I’ve jumped over in the past 12 months or so. The people I’ve had to contact. The types of appointments I’ve had to make. The number of lawyers I’ve had conversations with about various topics. The amount of counselors I had to have uncomfortable discussions with. The amount of tears I’ve had to wipe and continue to wipe. The ridiculous amount of times I’ve listened to my young children speak so candidly with me about death. The amount of times I’ve been slapped in the face with their entire world view being changed and watching them hold on tight to shreds of magic that we can still believe in. In the midst of it all, we had family visiting in and out. It’s been hectic. It’s been messy. I did my best to operate with tunnel vision and focus solely on my children and keeping a positive attitude when I had to interact with the world. Because, of course, the world keeps spinning. Deadlines keep approaching.

And now here we are in November with the holidays right on our doorstep and it also happens to be National Children’s Grief Awareness Month. I felt it was appropriate to piece together all the little writings I have laying around from moments I’ve shared with my children. Stories they’ve shared with me about their new friends in grief group. And take this as an opportunity to reiterate how I’m so impressed with them. I’m so impressed with the love and graciousness they have in their hearts. They tell me stories about other families they’ve met in their group and my heart breaks for all the children going through such tremendous loss. It also breaks my heart that my kids speak so freely about how their friend learned their dad died. It’s something they can relate to and I hate that. A couple months ago we went to a butterfly release where over 400 butterflies were set into the air at the same time. It was a sweet afternoon. My boys became friends with another boy who was releasing butterflies for both of his parents. And to watch the three of them be able to run around and laugh and then release a butterfly and remember the ones no longer with us—it’s an oddly incredible thing to witness. I am so thankful for the many programs my children have the opportunity to take part in, several from our local Hospice, including the butterflies and the Rainbow Kids Grief group in school. They both go to bed with journals. They color or draw everyday. They both have a heightened interest in music. They like that when you create something, it’s still here after you die. That’s appealing to them. I also credit their one-on-one counseling that focuses on trauma as a key contributor to the boys being able to express themselves in this way. I understand that talk therapy may not be for everybody, but it has worked wonders for our family. All three of us. They show me their drawings and their writings and their coloring, all of which they do as a way to express themselves. As a way to get out what is making their insides ache. I have a piece of paper that one of my boys drew about twenty broken hearts all over. He said that’s how his heart feels. My other son then walked over and drew a full heart and said, “it’s not always painful all the time.” And they’re both right. We have waves of joy and pain and it ebbs and flows and we move with it as it comes. I have sketches of daddy’s hand coming down from the sky, one of a bird (daddy) flying above us; I’ve read pages in their journal that simply say, “Daddy, I miss you.” And while that’s all heartbreaking to see and heartbreaking to hear, it also makes me so glad they have found healthy outlets to express their grief. They have found ways to not let it bottle up inside them and explode in anger. We all have our moments in this house. We are all still learning to live in our new world, but we all have an understanding of one another.

Last month, in the midst of all the chaos, we went to a tattoo convention, the Queen City Tattoo & Arts Festival to be exact. The kids got cool face paintings and temporary tattoos and, most importantly, lots and lots of candy. The boys and I were able to spend a lot of time together, outside of the house and regular activities. We watched contests and I joined one. They had the opportunity to see what it really looks like when someone gets a tattoo and all the amazing ways art is created. I wasn’t sure if they were enjoying it, but on the way home they thanked me for taking them. And then they started talking to me about their dad. That’s how it often goes these days. Joyful events are often followed by sad nights. Because while many people like to say, “You’ve made it through the first year, you made it through all the firsts,” that’s not very accurate. Yes, we have made it through the first year after their dad died, but we have an endless amount of firsts ahead of us. We are just moving into our new life. Every accomplishment and failure they have will be bittersweet. When they learn a new sport, a new skill, find a new interest—the first person they want to tell will never be here again. And they know that. And they navigate through that.

Grief permeates your body. No matter your age. I don’t even have to tell them what time of year it is and I can see that they feel it. I can hear it by the words they express. I can see it by the way they walk. I can feel it in their anger and in their sadness and even in their joy. My newly six year old thinks about death a lot for his young brain. He says that he wants to see dad in Heaven, but he wants to live here on Earth. And he tells me that I am going to be so beautiful as an old lady in Heaven and he cannot wait to see me as a grandma. I joke and tell him that I can’t wait to wear old lady glasses, when really I’m simply thankful he has no desire of leaving this Earth. He was only a couple weeks shy of his 5th birthday when his dad died. He didn’t process the finality of that as quickly as his older brother. Right after the funeral we went into celebrating holidays and birthdays. His grief was still confusing for him while his brother knew exactly what had happened. It’s interesting to see them both go through the same stages of acceptance and awareness, but at completely different times.

Once we were home from the tattoo show, the boys thanked me again for taking them there. And one added, “I had fun getting to spend time with you today, just the three of us. We don’t get much time together anymore, because ever since dad died you have to take care of everything.” That absolutely brought instant tears to my eyes. I hugged my little men and told them how much I loved them. They continued to thank me several times that night and into the next day. And it’s as if they always come to me with something profound right when I need it the most.

The entire year following their dad’s death I’ve been doing everything I can to maintain relationships with family and friends for the boys. I’ve been doing my best to keep them connected to family members and people more connected with their dad than me. I’ve been trying to add all these people in to keep my kids well-rounded, when they are simply happiest when I’m happiest. They have the most fun when we have fun together. The three of us. The people they actually ask me to visit are the ones who accept me and my grieving as much as they accept my children and their grieving. It seems so obvious, but it was a light bulb moment for me. The three of us adore each other. And we only have desire to be around people who do not come with tension and judgement. I always knew I felt that way for them, but it was a turning point to realize they also feel that way for me.

Both of my kids have grown so much this past year. They’ve grown more confident and more empathetic and shown more strength than I would have ever imagined. Their scars and bruises have started early. Earlier than any parent would want for their child. And yet they wake up and they go to school, they train in their sports, and they still laugh even on days filled with tears. Grieving is personal, but it’s often unable to be private. Whether we are taking a quick trip or staying home, they are most at ease when they can be themselves. When they can express how they are feeling without fear of judgement. And I trust their instincts on that as much as they trust mine. They are a constant source of inspiration for me. My little warriors.