As a young child (school age), I faced my share of grief and while my feelings and emotions were real, so much was happening that the emotions weren’t properly addressed. When I moved to Toronto to work with my older two boys, they were dealing with their own set of grief and needed guidance that wasn’t coming from their parents. In a recent conversation with a friend, the subject came up again and I realized that it might be something worth discussing

My history:

When I was 7, our family guinea pigs died. We’d had fish die before. The guinea pigs were buried in the backyard and given crosses and my siblings were more upset than I was. I really didn’t care much, but I knew they were gone. My siblings had lost a big pet before and the guinea pigs were theirs. Shortly after that, our cat was diagnosed with feline leukemia, a kind of cancer. Being 7, I heard “cancer.” She had one surgery, I turned 8, and we moved to Colorado. (New country, new school, new house.) Shortly after we moved, my mom was diagnosed with melanoma (skin cancer) and in the following weeks, cervical cancer. During her treatment, the family cat had two more surgeries and subsequently was put to sleep and buried in our backyard. Cancer became associated with death in my mind and I knew my mom would die. That winter, my grandfather passed away (natural causes). The following year, my school principal was diagnosed with breast cancer. My mom’s great aunt passed away that year as well. I never knew her, but it was another death.

When I was in grade 5 (now 10years old), my school principal was in late stage cancer, terminal, and moved to the nursing home that my mom worked at and I volunteered at. I was no longer allowed to volunteer. When she passed away, there were two days of grief counseling offered at the school. After that, anyone still needing help dealing with it was offered time with the school guidance counselor. I took advantage of it and missed five days of class crying. It was the first time anyone had told me it was okay to show my emotions, had modeled grief in any way I could understand. I was forced back into regular class after that and taken to a therapist (psych-something). That didn’t last long. She didn’t help me understand what I was feeling. I told her I felt like everyone I knew was dying and someone I knew would keep dying every year until I was all alone. My mom told the therapist I was exaggerating the situation and the therapist and my mother dismissed my remark. I learned that the only way I’d get out of awkward, uncomfortable therapy was to put a smile on my face and pretend everything was okay, so I did.

Grade 6 (11years old) saw another move, to Alaska. It was 2001, September was 9-11. When it happened and word came to our teacher, we sat in class and watched the news coverage. We had the TV on in class for 3 days. We talked about what happened, the lives lost, the people who did it and what might happen. We were encouraged to write our feelings. That was another first for me. No one had told me to write anything out before. I still have a notebook somewhere with the letter I wrote to myself on 9-11. It talks about my knowing that the US would go to war, that Canada would go because we’re allies, that my father would go because he was in the military, that my brother would go because he wanted to join the military, that my dad and brother would die because people died in war. At that time, I accepted that my dad and brother would die. They didn’t, and have both avoided the middle-east.

Later that year, one of the girls in my scout troop stayed home sick from school. Day three of her not there, our troop leader came in and pulled everyone out of class to talk to us. She told us that our friend had died of spinal meningitis and there was nothing the doctors could do about it. Her funeral was the first that I attended. I also went to the memorial service at the school and helped organize it.

When I was in grade 8, I had a teacher who recognized something in me. She saw my writing in English class and encouraged me to keep writing and write constantly. She pushed me to attend writing conferences, to enter contests, to write for people, and to try any style. In grade 9, I was still writing constantly and my work was so dark that I was banned from reading anything out loud without having prior permission. It wasn’t dark because I was writing real experiences, it was dark because I was finally processing that emotion that had built up over the previous years, finally understanding death.

In grade 11, my aunt passed away from pancreatic cancer. I was able to deal with her death and even understand pancreatic cancer a bit more by doing a report on it for my science class.

My boys:

Three months before I stepped into my boys’ lives, their grandfather passed away. They’re a tight family and all live locally, so they knew him well, something I didn’t have with mine when he passed. They were also dealing with the separation of their parents, who officially separated (for the kids) when I got there. The boys would ask me questions about death, God, heaven, dying, and why. They would ask me when we were on walks, when we were at home, when we were playing games, when we were reading. I was there all the time and they never asked their mom. I did the best I could. I didn’t grow up with God, but knew they were being brought up that way and found the answers to those questions online as best I could. I drew on my own experience, my own very real fears, my own methods of coping and processing the emotions to find them answers for dealing with it. When, six months after I showed up, I took them for a walk through the local cemetery because they insisted on it and told their mother, she couldn’t understand that the boys would still be thinking about their grandfather and his death.

It’s a Process

I know that it’s hard to understand, but as adults, we tend to push aside our experiences as children and not be able to pull on them to meet our children’s unexplained emotional needs. If I hadn’t experienced the depth of death that I had when I was young, I wouldn’t have those memories as sharp in my head now as I do and wouldn’t have been able to draw on them to help my boys.

Define it early:

Explain it in plain words. Don’t dance around what’s happened. Kids are smart and they pick up on what’s going on very easily. Clearly define what’s happened and be prepared to help them understand it further and be prepared to answer more questions as they get older because they’ll keep coming back to the first experience with more questions 2 and 5 and 10 years later, trying to understand what happened with their new knowledge.

If it’s a disease/illness, define it clearly. It took me years to realize that feline leukemia and melanoma and cervical cancer were three different forms of cancer. I didn’t know that my mom wasn’t in danger of dying because they caught it early. It wasn’t until I was well into middle school that I understood my mom wouldn’t die from the cancer she had. Make sure you’re clear about what it is and what it means, there’s always age appropriate words you can use to get your point across, you just have to find them. Just remember that the doctors are the good guys, even if they can’t/couldn’t do anything.

It’s NEVER Exaggerated:

When I voiced that I was afraid everyone would die and I’d be alone because someone had died every year since I was 7, it was a very real fear. When it was dismissed, I was told that what I feared didn’t matter. I didn’t have the words to explain why that’s what I feared, and I didn’t have the understanding to know why the adults felt I was exaggerating the situation. When bad things kept happening, even after the fear was dismissed by adults, I “knew” I was right and just felt worse, but I had no one to turn to at that point because the adults I trusted didn’t listen the first time.

The weird and exaggerated fears that come out of death and grief are very real for the child experiencing them, however strange they may seem to you. Humour the child and find a way to talk it out instead of simply dismissing it. Knowing that their fears are valid, even if they’re odd, will help the child get over them and not hold on to that fear for years to come.

Find a Way to Express:

Everyone needs a way to express their emotions. Some people draw, some people paint, some people dance, some people use sports. For me it was writing. Find a safe way for the child to express their emotions and encourage it. What comes out of it may not be appealing (dark art/writing as was from me), but it’s helping the child understand the emotions that are bottled up inside. It gives them something to turn to to help them understand what’s happened and why they feel the way they do.

Be a Listener:

It’s huge, just listen. You have your own problems, yes, but it’s very important for the child to know that you are listening, that you hear them, that you understand what they’re feeling. Give them that safe ear to spill their guts to, even if it doesn’t make sense to you. Give them that safe shoulder to cry on, even if you can’t understand why they’re still crying over something you’ve been able to deal with.

And remember…

These are big things, huge things. How long did it take for you to process and cope with what happened as an adult? How hard do you think it is for the child to understand it and deal with it when they don’t have your long experience?