Death SUCKS!

Mommy Proof #10: One day, you will have to teach your child about death and grief.

Last week, a close family member died. She was such an awesome person. Just a few months ago, she called me and asked me to take the kids to the movies. For six awesome hours, she took care of my children in settings I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. After the movie, she took them to get pizza, play games, and get tokens. They were entertained at a place with a giant rat on the sign. (The rat smiles, but it still doesn't look funny.) She brought them home, laughing, tired, and happy as can be. We made plans to go the aquarium later in the year, but later never came. A month after we last saw her, I received a phone call that she had lost her battle with cancer. She was gone. No more hugs. No more hellos. No more goodbyes. How do you explain to children that someone they loved and cherished is gone? It is a concept that doesn't seem concrete to them.  As the adults around them spoke about viewing the body and funeral arrangements, my children, too, were having a meeting of the minds. They had decided that they would NOT go to the funeral. They didn't want to see any sad people. They wanted to go see her. One last time. Please. So, I obliged.

I drove them to the funeral home. I parked. I helped them out of the car. I gave them a talk about what they would see. I told them she would look like she was sleeping, but she wouldn't wake up. It was okay to cry. It was okay to change their minds. It was okay to upset. It was okay to be sad. Finally, my oldest saw that I was stalling and she walked past my ramblings and into the funeral home. I had been defeated by her need to say goodbye. I sat them in the adjoining room, so I could go in first. I whispered the words that would be needed to prepare them. Family and friends patiently waited until they mustered up the courage to go in. They entered from the back of the room. My youngest stayed there nervously opening and closing his hands. My older two children went forward with tissues in their hands. We all cried. The realization hit them and they left the room with their heads heavily hanging, breathing labored, sobbing silently.

I hugged everyone as they piled into the van. As a mommy, we just want to see them feel better. I showed them pictures of their beloved cousin, healthy and vibrant. Pictures of her with them. Then, my oldest had a better way of saying goodbye. In memory of their last outing, they asked to watch the movie she last took them to see. So with ice cream sundaes, fresh baked cookies, and freshly bathed bodies, we all sat down an hour later to watch that movie. They laughed at the parts she loved. They told me what she said "when this happened" and "when that happened." They made her mother a card with beautiful pictures. They went to sleep. Two hours later, my youngest big boy climbed into my bed haunted by what he saw. I whispered every reassuring word I could into his ears until we both fell asleep. When we awakened the next morning, everyone was....fine. Somber, but okay. They knew what death was, but they had to learn about grief. That night, they taught me everything they knew.

A week later, we adopted their first pet:: a fish named Max. He died 34 hours later. I sent my husband out to get a replacement fish. I can't do this again. :'-(

Gone too soon! Max the first