Michael Carley shares his hardest conversation ever, explaining loss of a loved one to a young child.
–
My father died in the early morning hours of Saturday, September 1st of 2012. Our son was not quite five years old at the time, so that morning, we had with him the hardest conversation of his young life.
When Dad was diagnosed, we were told he had somewhere between a few weeks and a few months to live. He was gone a week later. So although my wife and I had discussed it ourselves, we hadn’t had a chance to protect our son.
In that week , we had consulted a few online resources. There are a couple of things the experts stress: first, children are very literal in their thinking so avoid euphemisms. Use direct, clear language instead. Secondly, children live very much in the present, so their feelings will come and go. Be prepared for the child to seem cavalier at one moment and break out into tears the next. I’d add to that only that consulting experts is useful, but you know your own child better than anyone, so trust your instincts as well.
So, on that Saturday morning on about 3 hours of sleep, my wife and I sat down with our son. I began with a simple truth stated in simple terms: “Daddy is very sad this morning.”
“Why?”
“Well, you remember how we visited Grandpa in the hospital the other day and he was very sick? And yesterday, we visited him again at the house? Well, Grandpa was very sick and his body wasn’t working anymore and he died. So, I’m very sad because we don’t get to be with him anymore.”
My wife chimed in, “But we’ll remember Grandpa and all of the fun things he did with us. Like how he took you to pancakes and played with you.”
“But why were you sleeping on the couch?” (Again, thinking in the present)
“When Grandpa died last night, I went over to Grandma’s house to be with them. I got home really late and you and mommy were still sleeping, and I slept on the couch so I wouldn’t wake you up.”
“Can we have breakfast?”
“Yes, what would you like?”
“He still doesn’t get it” my wife cautioned.
“Me neither, I replied.”
But the important thing is to keep the conversation open, and even in you own grief, be available for tough questions.
On the way to mom’s later that morning , out of the blue, my son chimed in, “I’m sorry Grandpa died.”
“Yes, we are too.”
He repeated the same words to my mom when we arrived.
The blunt language children use often takes us by surprise. On Monday morning, while looking through pictures to be used in a funeral slide show, he was his many happy pictures rolling across the computer screen. Then one of dad came up. “He died,” our son exclaimed.
“Yes, he did.”
On Tuesday, the topic came up again, first while playing in the afternoon and later, while putting him to bed. “Daddy, when is your birthday?”
“My birthday is in just a couple of weeks. Daddy is going to be 44 years old.”
“Maybe when you’re 44, you will die.”
“No, daddy is very healthy. I eat my vegetables and exercise. I hope I live a long time; maybe until 80 or 90 years old. I’m going to watch you grow up and maybe you’ll have your own children.”
“Maybe when I grow up and get to be as big as you, I’ll die.”
“No, I think you’re going to live a long time. You keep eating your vegetables and exercising. Maybe you’ll live to be 100.”
“If I live that long, I’ll be bigger than a house. I won’t fit through the door.”
“No, when you get to be about 18 or 20 years old, you’ll stop growing. But, you’ll still live a long time after that. Maybe you could live to a hundred years old.”
One of the things we’ve come to understand is that at this time in his life, age, height, and weight are still muddy concepts he mixes up frequently. Numbers over about 10 are beyond comprehension, like us trying to grasp trillion dollar budgets. He confuses growing up with growing old an dying, not yet understanding that people live most of their lives in adulthood.
On another note, the decision whether to take a child to a funeral is a difficult and personal choice. We decided to send him to school instead. He got to say goodbye at the viewing that Wednesday night before the funeral. He got one last look and told his grandfather he loved him.
After the funeral on Thursday, a friend picked him up from school with her own five year old and brought him to where we were. As our friend drove the thirty miles or so from the small town we live in to the smaller one where family and friends were gathered for a meal after the funeral, a rather morbid conversation was going on in the back seat. The two boys were talking about the people they knew and when they were going to die. The final conclusion was that our son’s friend’s sister was “halfway there” because she was already 13 years old.
On Tuesday, September 11th Dad was buried at National Cemetery near Bakersfield. My son got to touch the casket and say one last goodbye.
At this point, we don’t know how much he’ll remember as time goes on. We’re talking with him about the good memories and my wife and he will be putting together a memory book about Grandpa. But, as much we wish we could have delayed his first encounter with mortality, the conversation is ongoing.
Adapted by the original author from an original post at the Porterville Recorder.
Photo: Joe Hall/ Flickr
Thanks Michael. I think it’s great that you were honest and very clear about what happened.