Grief & Kids

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

I didn't turn on the TV all weekend.

I could see enough pain, anger, and confusion on Facebook and Twitter.  After awhile, I couldn't look at my computer either.

I didn't need the news to tell me how to feel or to push the tears up to the surface; my emotions have been a millimeter below everything I've done this weekend.  I understand there's evil in the world that defies comprehension and explanation; guessing 'why' with the news organizations feels speculative and premature.

No.  I was choking back tears (and clinging to the kids) enough without any outside voices fanning my emotions.

The kids heard the news from Newtown, CT via Instagram (?!) before we came home from work.  We talked and prayed for families during Friday night's dinner.  The processing time with the kids didn't seem particularly intense or lengthy.

But then Saturday afternoon, as I was leaving to retrieve my son from a birthday party, my 9-year old daughter walked in and said,

"Mom, can I talk to you?" "Sure," I said expecting to hear a request for something. "I've been thinking," she started, "if someone came to my school and shot my brother, I think I would cry forever."

She leaned into me and sobbed.

There it was: the emotional rainbow.

Grief. Empathy. Fear. Confusion. Sadness.

I felt wildly ill-equipped as a parent at that moment.  I was crying with my daughter.  She doesn't understand how families survive such tragedies and neither do I.  She was feeling fine moments earlier, then something made her imagine losing her brother and she was engulfed in emotions.  Her response was likely mirrored by parents across America and the world.

I want to fix what's wrong.  I want to use words, apply logic, and otherwise find order from this tragedy. I want to make the world safe and to keep everything secure.  Unfortunately, I can't do any of these things.  In fact,  I don't know how to do much in this situation.  However, what I can do, I will do.

Share Grief.

There's no shame in crying at home, at school, at work.  Our kids need to practice grieving well which means being authentic with our sadness.  Processing grief takes time, and we're going to be there for each other.

Talk about our emotions.

Kids don't always have words to describe how they are feeling.  As parents, we can direct the conversation so they can begin to understand the range of emotions they're experiencing.  We should be putting lots and lots of our OWN words around this event.  Don't let the media set the tone for what needs to be a family conversation.

Pray for those who are hurting.

Only God can adequately meet people in their pain.  I've always loved the thought from Abraham Lincoln: “I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.”  Part of parenting is to teach our kids where to turn when there's nowhere else to turn.  For our family, that will always come back to our faith in a loving God who grieves along with us.

Love each other well.

This weekend I had patience to spare with my kids.  I dropped projects whenever they wanted to hang out.  I took a break from any "busy" in order to soak in moments with the family.  Why? Because I was reminded, again, of life's brevity and the need to be present DAILY.  Grief has a funny way of resetting priorities.  Loving each other well needs to be intentional.

How are you grieving with your kids?