I’ve never been one to fully broadcast my Irish side. On
most St. Patrick’s Days, you may find me in an obligatory green piece of
clothing. Since I don’t wear as much green as I used to, it may be a faded
t-shirt or green beads that I borrowed from my daughter.
However, in the past four years, St. Patrick’s Day has been
bittersweet rather than a loud and rowdy celebration of Irish (or near Irish)
heritage. Four years ago when my son was still in middle school, he lost a
classmate, a teammate, and a friend in a horrible accident. I cannot fathom
losing someone you see every day when you are so young. On this day every year,
he does not think as much about green leprechauns and pots of gold. Rather, he
and his friends are reminded of the empty seat in their classrooms.
As a parent, I had to think on my feet from that day on as I
watched my son go through the stages of grief. The night it happened, his
friend was supposed to be at soccer practice, but his friend never showed up.
Through social media and news reports, we found out what happened. He went to
bed knowing, but was numb from the sobering truth. I sat in his room because he
had questions I didn’t know how to answer as he was dozing off. The next day, I
made him go to school. He hated that more than ever, hated the idea of walking
into a class and seeing his friend’s empty seat. I armed him with a hug and a
pocket full of tissues. But the truth was that counselors were going to be
there. The students were going to be there for each other for support. There is
no support sitting at home watching TV or lying in bed refusing to see the sun
that your friend would never see from Earth again. He thanked me later for
making him go.
That night, he cried himself to sleep and made sure that we
would go to his memorial service in the next few days. Those nights I felt like
I was staying up with a newborn child all over again because sleep came so
restlessly for him. There were times that his friends he hung out with after
school asked me questions or just wanted to talk through their feelings. I
stayed in touch with their parents going through the same thing I was.
Sometimes those friends asked me to drive them to his memorial marker. The day
after his funeral, the indoor soccer team started their championship game.
After a tearful moment of silence, the forward bawled her way to a smashing
goal upon the kickoff. It was the saddest, yet powerful team effort I have ever
witnessed for such young players.
Grief is something that everyone has to endure in their
life. When a life is lost so young, their friends may be struggling with it for
the first time. While some children lose a grandparent, they think of it more
as a circle of life when the old die when their time is up. The loss of a child
from a terminal illness or tragic accident is even more difficult. Time may
make it easier for them to learn about coping and moving on, but the memory
never goes away. It is important to reflect on all of the positive memories
just like it is important to give them time to grieve. Some children will talk
while others will write, draw, or reflect. The role of the parent for me is to
be there. My son’s friends talk with him because they say he is a great listener.
At the same time, he needs someone to listen to him, which is often where I
come in.
When I was in high school, one of my English teachers said
that children and their parents only spend about six minutes of quality time
together. I shared this with my parents and we just laughed in surprise at the
statistic. Every evening after that, if there was some down time after dinner,
I would sit with my parents on the screened-in porch or in the living room to
just talk. Sometimes it was for six minutes, sometimes longer. I do what I can to
have at least six minutes of quality conversation with my children on an
individual basis so that we can talk about the mundane, the fascinating, or the
important thoughts that are on our minds. These six minutes, a statistic that
is likely to be much lower in the technology age, allows my kids to know that I
am there for them no matter what with few limitations on topics. That includes
dealing with grief.
If you have to share grief with your child, I feel for you.
It is not something that you can truly teach a child. Rather, you have to take
the journey of sadness with them as a guide. The rest is up to them to figure
out as a part of growing up. If you are a parent who lost a child too soon, I
see your grief and your guardian angel watching over you every day.
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