Children
The night my husband died, I woke my eldest child of 4 and told her what happened immediately. I told her that Daddy had died. When she asked how, I told her he had shot himself. When she asked why, I told her because he was angry at himself. Her sleepy, angelic face took in my tears and my barely controlled sobs. She clung to me and whispered "It'll be okay, Momma." I whispered back that it would. We both stroked each other's hair and let the tears and anguish flow. My 18 month old son, stood up in his crib and started to cry. I gathered him up and we all sat on the bed until the police arrived, my youngest girl of 6 months asleep soundly in the other room, unaware of the change that is now a part of us forever.
I never thought not to tell my children the truth about their father. They deserved to know the truth and we coped as a family. The younger ones were aware of the change but were more concerned with new changes and faces. I never tried to hide my tears or sorrow from the kids, and they never felt they had to hide theirs from me. We dealt with our loss with honesty and compassion. I remember the times they would come into the room to find tears streaming down my face, and came over to sit on my lap and stroke them away with their tiny hands. I didn't have to find my eldest, she knew that even when I was busy I had time to hold her tightly in her sorrow. I encouraged her to talk about her feelings as much as she wanted. I never hushed her when she would tell strangers or acquaintances that her daddy was dead. That was part of her now and in her innocent way, it was important that people know it. I think it helped make it a fact for her--an immutable part of her that will always be there. There is no changing the facts, and somehow this made it easier for her.
When I talked to a counselor about the children, I was told I did the right thing by telling them. Lying about what happened would be a breach of their trust in me. If I had not let her know what happened or how, she would have found out sooner or later and have to deal with these new "facts" after she already made peace with a lie. I couldn't and wouldn't do that to her. She may have been young, but according to the grief counselor, her memories would mostly be made up of the things she sees in pictures and what I tell her. I have found this to be mostly true. She does make it a point to bring up certain recollections almost as if to make sure she doesn't lose them to time.
Her comments over the past few years have become minimal--she still tells new people sometime shortly after meeting them, but even that is happening less frequently. At the time and even now, her coping mechanisms are obvious and work well for her. Someone told her shortly after it happened that he is an angel and in heaven. (I rue the day anyone tries to tell her otherwise.) This comforts her and she used to say that he tells her he loves us in her head. She also saw a little crack on the ceiling that previously went unnoticed, and told me that her dad had come down to check on us and his wing scratched the ceiling in that spot. I love her for that. I wish I could believe as easily as she does.
When it comes to her peers, she answers their questions easily and there is usually not too much more said about it. She is a very compassionate girl and senses when someone is uncomfortable with it and will automatically change the subject. I have eavesdropped(!) on her conversations with her pals and have walked away wondering how a 6 year old has more tact and caring than many adults I know in this situation. For a little while it seemed there was a lot of make-believe play about death. "Pretend I'm dead and I come to you from heaven..." It made me a little uncomfortable to hear children talking so easily about death. But I realize now that this should be more the attitude of everyone instead of making it such a taboo subject.
Since the little ones are good at picking up their older sister's lingo, they also make "daddy's in heaven" comments even though they probably have no real memories of him other than fleeting impressions. They have accepted his absence as normal. It is sad when I realize they have lived longer with his absence than with him. I hope that as they get older they do not dwell on his example--it is one of my biggest fears. All I can do is keep setting my own examples by showing them all that even though life has its ups and downs, it still goes on. I feel we are a stronger family in times of trouble and maybe as the children grow so will their understanding of me and my choices for them.
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