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Many years ago I lost a little niece to SIDS. I explained her death to my eight-year-old son as matter-of-factly as I could.
“The baby just quit breathing while she was taking a nap and she died. They call it ‘Crib Death.'”
“She wasn't sick?”
“No, she just stopped breathing. Nobody really understands what causes it.”
When we went to the mortuary for the viewing, Grandpa had a hard time when he saw the little one in her casket and he began to hyperventilate. Someone brought him a paper bag to breathe into. The paramedics were called in. I missed most of the excitement, because I decided it was my job to corral the children and remove them from the scene. Out in the hall I answered their questions the best I could, explaining, “Grandpa's going to be fine. He's just having a little trouble breathing.”
The cumulative effect those two events had on my son didn't dawn on me until one night when I passed his room and heard loud exaggerated breathing, in and out, long deep breaths. He had developed a sudden obsession with his own mortality, but more specifically with a certain previously-automatic function. I went into his room. “What are you doing still awake?”
“I'm breathing.”
“You know, your body does that all on its own.”
“What if it forgets?”
“Did it forget while we were talking?”
“No.”
“When you were playing earlier, did you think about breathing or did your body just remember to do it?
“I guess it remembered, but Mom, there is something I've been wondering about.”
“What's that?”
“Is there a disease called ‘Bunkbed Death?'”
To understand where a child is coming from, you have to get down to their level, think like they think. For children, I have observed, faced with the loss of a parent or caregiver, first and foremost is the worry of “who will take care of me?” I realized after conversations with my son, who had lost his father when he was too young to understand, that at a certain point he, too, became curious about who would take care of him if something happened to me. Once I reassured him that arrangements had been made to that end, the questions and worries went away.
Dealing with the grief of children is something we are not prepared for. For most of us, grieving is serious business, but it can be child's play, if in fact, you are a child. You may notice that they incorporate it into their play. They may have a teddy bear that gets cancer. They may have a Hot Wheels hit-and-run that results in the demise of a Fisher Price pedestrian. This type of play might be upsetting to some adults, but in their own way, they are processing the events that have impact on their lives.
As they grow older and increase in awareness, there may be more questions. Be prepared to answer them as they come. You can usually tell when a response has been adequate because they will return to their normal activities. While you might have expected a response to what you said, there may be none, except another question three weeks later that shows their thought processes were at work on your answer. In the meantime, don't expect them to stop being children. If we need an example of “life goes on,” we would do well to look to our children. They intuitively recognize that the events that are, are and that they have no ability to change those events, and there is no reason for not playing even though a sad thing has happened. Neither are they constrained by thoughts of what people will think. I remember being surprised somewhat at the concept that I could still do things that were fun, even shortly after a loss. Young children generally don't stop to think about whether or not activities are appropriate to the situation, especially if they are fun.
To help my young son understand about death, I bought a Sesame Street book called I'll Miss You, Mr. Hooper, that contains the story of Big Bird trying to understand the death of Mr. Hooper, the storekeeper. It was appropriate to his age and it was probably as helpful to me, trying to figure out how to explain things to him, as it was to him. There are many books that help kids deal with death and you can find those that are appropriate to the ages of your children. Books often spark questions and discussions, and you can discuss with children the feelings of the characters in the book, which can be less threatening, and can also lead to the disclosure of their own feelings.
I fielded unexpected questions and comments along the way the best I could. When we took flowers to the cemetery, I referred to it as “the remembering place,” and he understood that it was a place where we came to remember his dad. Then one day he asked me, “Is this where my dad is buried?” I think he was around five years old or so. Up to that point, I hadn't known if he understood that concept, so I hadn't mentioned it.
“Yes, your dad is buried here. How do you know about being buried?”
“Jeff found a dead bird and we buried it.” He paused. “I hope my dad looked better than that bird.”
“Well, lots of people told me he looked like he was asleep,” I said, “but I didn't think so, because he wasn't in his pajamas and his hair wasn't sticking up.” He giggled. “But I'm pretty sure he looked better than the bird. Do you have any other questions?”
“No, but Mom, when I die, I want you to bury me with my head above ground so I can see what's going on.”
Later, when we'd held two cat funerals in quick succession, I was sure my young son was traumatized by these events. I was dating an attorney at the time, and he had helpfully informed me that I was probably unaware that there was a statute limiting how many animals could be buried in the backyard. Apparently Scott was not aware of that, because after the second cardboard box and cargo was in the ground, and the services were over, I heard him say to his friend, Jeff (a hired mourner), “And when your cat dies, you can bury it in our backyard for only a dollar.” I realized that for Scott death was something he just accepted as somewhat routine. For my son the fact that his father was dead was just another thing he had learned about, along with his ABCs.
Be prepared for children to put their own interpretation on things. In my book, Unfinished Business, based loosely on my own experience, the young child sends a helium-filled balloon up to his father and refers to him as Heavenly Father. When Beverly, his mother, asks him about that title, he responds, “That's what everybody at church calls him.” This did not happen to me, but it well could have. So Beverly takes a few minutes and explains to her young son the difference between his Father in Heaven and his Dad in Heaven. Another thing I put in the book that did happen was when the Primary children were asked one Sunday to raise their hands if they wanted to go to Heaven. I'm sure some lesson about keeping the commandments was in store. My three-year-old was the only one who didn't raise his hand. When asked why, he said simply, “My dad already went, and it made my mom sad, and if I go, she'll be all alone.”
Because of their unique way of looking at the world, children need and deserve the facts explained to them in a way that they can understand. Don't tell them that “grandma is going away for a very long time,” because at some point they are going to expect her to come back. When my son grew older and asked about how his dad died, I told him as much as I felt was appropriate about the accident, and that his father had been hurt badly and taken to a hospital. “Sometimes people get hurt and if the doctor can't make them better, Heavenly Father takes them to Heaven and makes them better there.”
The “gone” part is hard enough for adults to adjust to and is a concept that is often difficult for children, but it is necessary for them to understand that separation is part of death. It is okay to say, “Mom is gone and that is going to be really hard for all of us.” While comforting phrases that help us to know a loved one is watching over us should be used, it is important not to minimize the loss too much or make it sound as though nothing has changed. I prefer “we have so many good memories we can think about when we feel sad” rather than “if he is in our hearts, he is never really gone.” Those last three words are what a child will hear. When that same child has a birthday or a ball game, and Dad really is gone, a child may feel he has been lied to.
Be careful what you (and others) say to your child that rocks his or her world. A child being told he is “the man of the house” or thrusting mothering duties suddenly on a young girl is an unfair burden on top of an already devastating loss. If there is the loss of sibling, there will be a change in the established birth order and the roles of siblings. The middle child may now be the oldest and expectations might be communicated that go with that role. There may be a new youngest. The ratio of girls to boys might change, when suddenly a brother or sister has lost a significant sibling who kept him or her from being the lone brother or sister. Be aware of those changes and be sensitive to the challenges that may bring.
As their understanding grows, the grief that you feel you did not see may surface. Long after the rest of the family has cycled through some of the phases of grief, you may have an angry teen-age daughter, upset that her friends have mothers to help them make a dress for the prom and she does not. You may have a son wanting details he was too young to understand at the time and showing interest in things past, prolonging or bringing to the surface your own feelings of loss. Grief is not a linear thing. You can't check the items off the list and announce the completion of the project. This is especially true of children, who often have to “grow into” their grief.
It is an additional challenge to be sensitive to the grief of the small people around you, when dealing with your own feelings of loss, but remember that although what you see might not look like grief to you, children are working through things in their own unique way. Perhaps if we observe close enough, we might even learn something.
Alison Moore Smith is a 61-year-old entrepreneur who graduated from BYU in 1987. She has been (very happily) married to Samuel M. Smith for 40 years. They are parents of six incredible children and grandparents to two astounding grandsons. She is the author of The 7 Success Habits of Homeschoolers.