NOTE: Although not related to my usual Baby Boom column, I wrote this piece as part of a story related to childhood grief. Hopefully people will find it helpful if they find themselves in the unfortunate position of needing the insight.
I got down on my hands and knees to peek under my aunt’s bed. The Siamese kitten peered back at me, and I called to lure her out. My best friend eagerly awaited the results of my quest because we both wanted to marvel at how soft her fur was.
Suddenly, I heard the front door open and my aunts walked into the bedroom.
“Sarah,” one of them said. “Your mom died. She’s gone.” She burst into tears and pulled me to her as my other aunt and friend cried quietly nearby.
And I just stood there. I never said a word. I never even made a sound and I was so still, it almost hurt to breathe.
There’s no doubt that my mother’s death from liver cancer would indelibly alter the course of my life forever. It is a constant reference point for me now from my childhood. There was Sarah before Mom died. And there was Sarah afterward.
Looking back now, I see some lessons that could have been helpful then, that I hope can be helpful to other families now. Childhood grief is an extremely powerful force, and most families and support networks are ill equipped to deal with the myriad ways in which a young adult will respond to losing a loved one. Each case is unique, each story precious to the survivor, who must carry the story with them forever.
In my case, my mother’s cancer advanced swiftly, claiming her life in less than a year — and only two months after her 40th birthday. I was 15 years old. She was a single parent, and I had no siblings, so after her prognosis was deemed terminal, I spent the remaining days of her life at her sister’s house or at my grandparents’ home, where my mother received hospice care.
During that time, I pretended as if nothing were happening. It was only real if I acknowledged it, I would tell myself. Maybe I expected a miracle to save her. Maybe my teenage mind just couldn’t comprehend such a harsh reality.
She died the week before final exams for my sophomore year in high school. The thought of returning to school made me nearly hysterical. All I wanted to do was sleep all day, watch TV all night in the dark and eat only when the physical demand became necessary.
They were the classic signs of depression, but I was too young to realize it, and those around me did not know how to help. I was numb. No one really talked to me about what was going on. After all, they were grieving, too, and no one had the right words.
But what would I have wanted them to say? What could they have said that would have helped or broken through the fog of my despair?
Here’s what I would say to the family of that lost 15-year-old, what I hope other families might say to their children:
• Provide support: You don't have to have all the answers; just show them sincere love: “It’s OK that you’re hurting. You loved your mother so much, and I understand how hard this must be for you. Know that I will love and support you and am here for you.”
• Don’t judge: Grief can be quick and intense or long and excruciating — it depends on the individual. As long as he or she seems to be processing the emotions of grief, anger, sadness intermixed with normal behavior, it means they are healing and they need the latitude to do so in their own way.
• Put the child’s needs above your own: This is the ultimate sacrifice, but it is crucial to helping children immersed in grief. It doesn’t mean that you have to completely stifle your emotions, but you have to be careful not to scare the child, which can compound a negative emotional response. Remember, even though you might be hurting as well, you have the benefit of emotional maturity — a child doesn’t.
• Talk about it: This is something that will stay with a child forever. Don’t treat it like a dirty secret that is never to be uttered. Let the child ask questions or express their feelings and make him or her feel safe in doing so. It will relieve a lot of anxiety. Adults, oftentimes, will unknowingly put pressure on children to “move on” or “get past it” or “think happy thoughts.” Let them know that it’s OK to feel sad, because they will — sometimes for the rest of their lives.
• Reach out to school officials and counselors: Even though I returned to school three months after my mother died, it was all anyone talked about for the first week of the new school year and the stares from other students were downright agonizing. Don’t be afraid of being straightforward in asking that teachers and administrators do their best to be sensitive to your child’s delicate emotional process. Find out if there are resources for your child to talk to a school counselor if they have sudden feelings of panic throughout the school day or have trouble focusing. The child should have clear “safe havens” identified in times of emotional crises when you aren’t available.
In June, it will be 20 years since I lost my mother, and the benefit of time, maturity and perspective has helped me cope. But she is never far from my thoughts, and the painful experience of losing her — when we were both too young — affects me in more ways than I can describe. It underscores the need for communities to accept that children process grief, too, and that we need to be ready to help them through it. They are the most precious among us, and we should never let them feel like they are alone during one of the worst moments of their life.
It's incredibly difficult for me to put my story out there, but if it helps one child, one family, navigate the grief more easily, then it is totally worth it.
— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.
I got down on my hands and knees to peek under my aunt’s bed. The Siamese kitten peered back at me, and I called to lure her out. My best friend eagerly awaited the results of my quest because we both wanted to marvel at how soft her fur was.
Suddenly, I heard the front door open and my aunts walked into the bedroom.
“Sarah,” one of them said. “Your mom died. She’s gone.” She burst into tears and pulled me to her as my other aunt and friend cried quietly nearby.
And I just stood there. I never said a word. I never even made a sound and I was so still, it almost hurt to breathe.
There’s no doubt that my mother’s death from liver cancer would indelibly alter the course of my life forever. It is a constant reference point for me now from my childhood. There was Sarah before Mom died. And there was Sarah afterward.
Looking back now, I see some lessons that could have been helpful then, that I hope can be helpful to other families now. Childhood grief is an extremely powerful force, and most families and support networks are ill equipped to deal with the myriad ways in which a young adult will respond to losing a loved one. Each case is unique, each story precious to the survivor, who must carry the story with them forever.
In my case, my mother’s cancer advanced swiftly, claiming her life in less than a year — and only two months after her 40th birthday. I was 15 years old. She was a single parent, and I had no siblings, so after her prognosis was deemed terminal, I spent the remaining days of her life at her sister’s house or at my grandparents’ home, where my mother received hospice care.
During that time, I pretended as if nothing were happening. It was only real if I acknowledged it, I would tell myself. Maybe I expected a miracle to save her. Maybe my teenage mind just couldn’t comprehend such a harsh reality.
She died the week before final exams for my sophomore year in high school. The thought of returning to school made me nearly hysterical. All I wanted to do was sleep all day, watch TV all night in the dark and eat only when the physical demand became necessary.
They were the classic signs of depression, but I was too young to realize it, and those around me did not know how to help. I was numb. No one really talked to me about what was going on. After all, they were grieving, too, and no one had the right words.
But what would I have wanted them to say? What could they have said that would have helped or broken through the fog of my despair?
Here’s what I would say to the family of that lost 15-year-old, what I hope other families might say to their children:
• Provide support: You don't have to have all the answers; just show them sincere love: “It’s OK that you’re hurting. You loved your mother so much, and I understand how hard this must be for you. Know that I will love and support you and am here for you.”
• Don’t judge: Grief can be quick and intense or long and excruciating — it depends on the individual. As long as he or she seems to be processing the emotions of grief, anger, sadness intermixed with normal behavior, it means they are healing and they need the latitude to do so in their own way.
• Put the child’s needs above your own: This is the ultimate sacrifice, but it is crucial to helping children immersed in grief. It doesn’t mean that you have to completely stifle your emotions, but you have to be careful not to scare the child, which can compound a negative emotional response. Remember, even though you might be hurting as well, you have the benefit of emotional maturity — a child doesn’t.
• Talk about it: This is something that will stay with a child forever. Don’t treat it like a dirty secret that is never to be uttered. Let the child ask questions or express their feelings and make him or her feel safe in doing so. It will relieve a lot of anxiety. Adults, oftentimes, will unknowingly put pressure on children to “move on” or “get past it” or “think happy thoughts.” Let them know that it’s OK to feel sad, because they will — sometimes for the rest of their lives.
• Reach out to school officials and counselors: Even though I returned to school three months after my mother died, it was all anyone talked about for the first week of the new school year and the stares from other students were downright agonizing. Don’t be afraid of being straightforward in asking that teachers and administrators do their best to be sensitive to your child’s delicate emotional process. Find out if there are resources for your child to talk to a school counselor if they have sudden feelings of panic throughout the school day or have trouble focusing. The child should have clear “safe havens” identified in times of emotional crises when you aren’t available.
In June, it will be 20 years since I lost my mother, and the benefit of time, maturity and perspective has helped me cope. But she is never far from my thoughts, and the painful experience of losing her — when we were both too young — affects me in more ways than I can describe. It underscores the need for communities to accept that children process grief, too, and that we need to be ready to help them through it. They are the most precious among us, and we should never let them feel like they are alone during one of the worst moments of their life.
It's incredibly difficult for me to put my story out there, but if it helps one child, one family, navigate the grief more easily, then it is totally worth it.
— Sarah Leach is assistant managing editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.
I love you, my friend. Thank for sharing. =0)
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