So, how are the kids?

"So, how are the kids?"

You hear this a lot.  Most of the time, you know the people are really just asking because that is what you ask.  But many times, you know the reason people ask that question is because they know your story; they know your kids lost their parent.  To me this question is a difficult one.  How are they doing? Well, the 9 year old (#1) is getting hormonal and has unpredictable mood swings at the drop of a hat balanced carefully with being sweet as all get out and smart as the dickens; the 6 year old (#2) is caught some days between being a “big girl” and reverting back to being a whiner while maintaining a hilarious personality and knack for fashion; and the 4 year old (#3) attempts to push every button I have every second of the day while managing to still be irresistibly cute as a dang button.  So yeah – they seem normal.

But in the back of my mind…I still wonder – crap, how ARE they really?

I can’t imagine how they see the world.  They were 6, 3, and 1 when my husband died.  The hardest thing I had to do in my life was to tell them (or at least #1 and #2 - #3 was too young to understand) that he was gone. [Insert that music they play on cheesy shows when a main character is having a flashback here.]  If you are prone to crying, you may want to skip a few paragraphs, this part is rough to read – and was even harder for me to type.  I promise to get back to the funny after.

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It was the next morning after my husband died – as by the time the coroner had come by and given me the news the evening it happened, the kids were already in bed.  #1 came down the stairs, wondering why we had guests – friends and family - over so early in the morning.  That question, in hindsight, is what gave me my “lead in” to tell her what happened.  I explained, “You see all of these people here?  They love you and your sisters, Mommy and Daddy so much.  Do you know that?”

She hugged me, interrupting me…”hey Mommy, where’s Daddy?  Last night when it was dark outside I looked out my front window, and daddy was standing in the yard looking up at my window.  Where was he going?”

Chills ran up my spine.  Dave had died before dark. 

I continued with my speech, afraid I would never get the words out.  “When something bad happens, the people that love us are here for us.  That’s why these people are here now – because they love us so much.”

“And something bad has happened?” she asked, her beautiful big blue eyes – her daddy’s eyes – questioned.

“Yes, Baby – something bad has happened.”  Point of no return here.  I just had to tell her.  “Your daddy was in a bad accident, and he is not coming home.  He is in heaven now.”

She tightened her grip around me, tears filling up her eyes.  “Never ever, Mommy?”

“No baby…but he will always be with us, looking over us, loving us, just like he did last night when you were looking out your window.  He is like our angel now.”

The tears spilled out of her eyes, and of mine.  We just held each other.

#2 was coming down the stairs.  Round Two.  #1 instinctively knew that it was time for her to go to someone else’s lap, which she did, and I began the task of telling #2 the news.  Since she was three years old, I had to take a different approach.  How I gathered the strength and ability to realize this, to think of the things to say, I will never know.  Perhaps my husband was there with me, guiding me through it. 

I explained that Daddy had to go to heaven and live with Jesus and the angels, but would always be in our hearts.  She didn’t cry, just told me that her best friend had a grandpa that went to heaven and lived there with Jesus too, so Daddy wouldn’t be lonely.  She sat quietly on the couch, and #3 came over and cuddled with us.  I have never hugged them so tight in my life. 

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So yeah – how do kids hear THAT kind of news and “be ok” down the road?  Hell, I have my fair share of “not okay” moments, and I have 40+ years of living experience under my belt. 

My husband always said, “know the facts, and wing it” when he approached anything – a new project, a presentation, whatever – I have that philosophy too.  With that in mind, here’s my thoughts on handling it, attempting to make sure your kids are ok:

1)   Don’t pretend like nothing happened.  It did.  Encourage the kids to talk about fun memories, about how they are feeling, and about what is making them happy/sad/pissed off/etc.  Do the same with your own feelings.  They need to see that you are sad on occasion, that you get frustrated with the situation as well, I think – because that is how they can know that it is “normal”.  Let them know it is ok to cry – um, yeah, for the right reasons, not because your sister has been playing a DS game for two seconds and you suddenly decided you HAVE to have it. 

2)   Along similar lines, have rituals.  Let the kids guide you on this one…whether it be making cards or pictures for their lost parent, or telling a story at dinnertime about him, or eating ice cream in his honor.  It’s a way to remember those we have lost, keep talking about him, and for the kids to have some type of outlet too.  The point is to keep talking about him.  He is still a part of their lives, half their DNA, and they need to know that he loved them dearly.

3)   Seek counseling if you feel they need it.  I am constantly watching for signs.  What those signs are, I have no clue – you’ll have to do some Googling on that topic – but I’ll know them when I see them.  I know my kids’ personalities, and encourage them to talk about how they feel.  I’m not the most touchy feely person on the planet, so this one is a toughie for me, but for their sake, I force myself.   If they act out beyond the normal kid acting out, seem depressed, etc…it may be time.  When they are older, feel free to ASK them if they would like to talk to someone professional about their feelings.  Just be open about it.  The communication aspect is pretty danged important here.  Just remember to not always look at things as “ohhhh ,her daddy died and that is why she is calling her sister a stupidhead” – sometimes kids are just kids.

4)   Be prepared to be amazed.  Truly, I think they handle this better than I do sometimes.  They are amazingly resilient.  They now treat death as a part of life – as it should be – are appropriately sad, but also amazingly empathetic for those that the deceased has left behind.  My kids’ hearts grew three sizes bigger when they lost their daddy (just like the Grinch, but they weren’t Grinch-y to begin with), and I think they will be just fine.

Parenting is a big experiment anyway.  When you add something devastating like losing the person you were supposed to team up with on the parenting journey, you lose your “back-up” – you lose the person who is supposed to have your back in decision making, you lose that person that you bounced questions/ideas off of like, “ok, is it normal that X Kid is picking her nose and wiping boogers on the wall, because no one in MY family ever did that…”, or – “do you think we should let X Kid join girl scouts/dance class/karate/softball/etc?”  You have to do that on your own.  You make the decision by yourself.  And if you are like me, you pray that you make the right ones – but so does every parent in the world. 

And like Dave said - “know the facts – and wing it.”