Two kids react to the death of their Great-Grandfather

"Boys," called my husband, "Come back to the table! Family meeting time."

"What's up?" asked my 6-year-old, Big.

"Let's wait for your brother," I replied. Middle, the 4-year-old, joined us at the table and my husband motioned for me to begin.

"Remember last week when we talked about Pop-pop M, that he was old and getting 'old-sick'?" I started. The boys nodded. "Well, remember how I told you he may die soon?" Another nod. "Well, he died a few days ago."

"He died?" asked Middle.

"Yes. And I've been a little sad. I think you know that, right?" More nods. "But its okay to be sad because I know I'll miss him. But I have good memories of him, right?"

"Yeah, like, when we were in Maine and he broke his hip and we visited him at the hospital," said Middle.

"Right! That is a memory of Pop-pop."  He smiled. I looked to my 6-year-old. His head was on the table.

"I know!" exclaimed Middle. "I'm going to make a card for her. For... ummm. What's her name again? The one that lives with Pop-pop M." He was forgetting his Step-Great-Grandmother, Nanni. We reminded him of her name. "Yeah. We should make her a card. I'll need paper, and glue..."

"Let's wait until we finish talking," my husband said.

"No, that's alright. He can make a card while we talk. Its very nice that you want to make a card," I told him. "What about you? Do you want to make a card?" I asked Big.

"No. Can I go play with my Legos now?" He responded. Solemnly, he went to the family room.

As the 4-year-old proceeded to draw the broken hip and describe it to us, in extreme detail, he asked again for the name of "the one he lives with." Then he shared that she'll have it and "when Pop-pop M. comes alive again he'll get to see the picture, too."

"No! He won't come alive again. He's dead! Don't you get it?!" shouted out Big.

"Oh. Right."

"You don't come back when you die. You die. And you're buried. And that's it," Big explained forcefully.

"Yeah," agreed Middle. "So I'll just make this card and send it to the one that lives with him..."

"Lived. Not lives. He doesn't live anymore," said Big.

"Right. But when he comes back alive, he'll need my picture," Middle responded. And on the complicated discussion went, until, finally, Big let it go and went back to his Legos.

About 15 minutes later, the card now in an envelope and addressed to Nanni, Big paused from his Legos. "I'm very sad. I'll miss Pop-Pop M. He was old, right? How old was he?"

"93."

"And how old is Daddy?" he asked.

"39," my husband said.

"Mommy, how old are you?"

"35."

"And how old is Pop-pop P?"

"68"

Big nodded. "It's just really sad." 

******************

Today I talked to our Rabbi. The kids aren't invited to the funeral, burial or to sit Shiva (dysfunctional family, what can I say?) I asked his advice on how to help my children: to gently teach Middle that this is death and that he isn't coming back; to help Big to understand that being sad is okay. And its okay to miss him.

Rabbi suggested that after the burial we take the boys to the cemetery to visit: To show Big that we can miss him and we can visit him; to make his death more concrete to Middle, we'll show that his body has been buried underground.

It's a concept no one wants to teach their children. It helps to talk about it with others. In my case, to write about it. It amazed me that my children responded in such different ways, and both were so far from what I expected, yet, made perfect sense.

This is an original Philly Moms Blog Post. Julie also writes for Just Precious, Mommies with Style and other blogs.

Thanks to Ana Garza for the photo.