Joseph is a few weeks away from being 8, Michael is 4.
It was, of course, what I dreaded the most - telling Joseph.
I didn't tell him until evening. Somehow, the truth had managed to escape him. There wasn't that much going on - I had been on the phone in the back for a couple of hours, one set of visitors had come with food. They had been watching television.
A little bit before bed, I took Joseph into my room and sat him on the bed and held him tight.
I honestly do not remember exactly what I said. I am pretty sure I stuck to the basics: Daddy went to the gym, he was running, and his heart stopped working. They tried and tried to make it start again there and at the hospital, but they couldn't. His heart couldn't start again, and Daddy died - he has gone to be with Jesus.
"So he's never coming back?"
No, I said, but he is with us in some way, and we will see him again forever when we go to heaven.
Many tears - do I even need to mention that? And I had him sleep with me that night.
I didn't actually "tell" Michael until our travels to Florida came up. He asked why were going to Florida, so I explained it to him. He didn't cry.
I didn't have Michael come to any of the ceremonies except the graveside service.
Joseph came to the visitation. I explained everything to him, and told him he would see Daddy's body, and that he would say a prayer there with me. I would be with him the whole time, but we wanted to pray for Daddy - Daddy wanted us to pray for him. And he could stay or go- he could do whatever he wanted after that.
He dealt with that moment very well. He did not take his eyes off his father's body as he prayed the Hail Mary, he didn't cry, and then said he was ready - he wanted to go back to his cousins and play.
He came to the funeral, and cried a bit there. But was mostly stoic.
And since then?
We pray every night for Daddy. We thank God for Daddy. I have photos up here and there, and they seem to neither stop and study them or avoid them. There have been a few tearful moments, but honestly not many.
I am sort of at a loss for what to say - if anything. Some people have told me not to push it. Others have said to sit with them (Joseph especially) and check in with how they are doing, about their feelings and such.
Things have come out in odd moments.
For weeks, Joseph has been obsessed with the UAB Blazers basketball game that was last Saturday - against Marshall. I don't know if Michael had promised him they would go to it, or what (they had been to one game..in December, I think.) But obsessed is not too mild a word. Joseph would check the calendar, ask me to look on the website - all to make sure that this was the game, that it was still happening.
So last Saturday, we went.
By 2/3 through the first half, I could tell Joseph was uninterested. But it was more than disinterest. It could have been fatigue, it could have been sadness. It was probably both. It was just not the same. It can't be.
On Monday, Michael walked into his preschool and announced to the teacher, "My name isn't Michael. It's Ashko." (or something). She told me when I picked him up, he had been "Ashko" all day. I asked him several times why he changed his name, and most times he just shrugged, but once he said, "Michael is Daddy's name."
There have been moments when Michael says things like, "It's too bad Daddy is dead." And there are still other times I can hear Joseph goading him. "Where's Daddy?" he'll ask, waiting for the uncomprehending, jokey response that Michael will give, "Daddy's DEAD!" and then glance at me. I can't decide what that is all about, except an attempt to get a brother in trouble.
So we journey on. I am working on ways to keep Michael's memory alive for them, to honor what he did as a father to them, to keep them connected. But I remain unsure what to do about their loss in the deepest sense.
There have been hard moments over the past weeks - the hardest are those that come out of the blue, when you do not expect them.
One occurred last week, as I was filling out their school registrations for next year, when I had to write "deceased" in the blank next to "Father." It was, I think, harder and more hurtful to write those 8 letters than it had been for me to spend four hours with his body in the funeral home. Harder, I think, because those eight letters did not just spell out a single word, but spelled out a future for those little boys, who had such a wonderful father, whose uniqueness and gifts I cannot replicate. The letters spelled void, loss, questions, yearning. How in the world can I fill that hole, give them the resources to let God fill that hole, and try to lead them on a path of wholeness?
(Of great help has been Mary DeTurris Poust's book Parenting a Grieving Child)
Michael had the deepest contempt for grief counseling and such. When Joseph was in preK - four years ago - the other preK teacher - a young woman - was killed in a car accident over Christmas break. The school brought in grief counselers, who met with all of the children several times over the ,next few weeks, sitting them in circles, asking them about their feelings.
Oh, he was enraged! Joseph wasn't even in the young woman's class, had very little contact with her, and he felt, even if he had been in her class, that repeated circle time exploring feelings about Miss Jane's death, brought up issues that 4-year olds weren't even feeling. And the bear - oh the bear. They gave them all a teddy bear so they could ..I don't know. Tell their feelings to the teddy bear? I'm not sure. Michael (the Daddy) hated the sight of that bear.
The day we were leaving for Florida, Joseph went in search of something he had to take with him. Something he had not cared about or played with or slept with for a long time.
And as soon as he found it, but not before, when he dug out the teddy bear from the closet - he was ready for the journey.
"So he's never coming back?"
No, I said, but he is with us in some way, and we will see him again forever when we go to heaven.
Many tears - do I even need to mention that? And I had him sleep with me that night.
I didn't actually "tell" Michael until our travels to Florida came up. He asked why were going to Florida, so I explained it to him. He didn't cry.
I didn't have Michael come to any of the ceremonies except the graveside service.
Joseph came to the visitation. I explained everything to him, and told him he would see Daddy's body, and that he would say a prayer there with me. I would be with him the whole time, but we wanted to pray for Daddy - Daddy wanted us to pray for him. And he could stay or go- he could do whatever he wanted after that.
He dealt with that moment very well. He did not take his eyes off his father's body as he prayed the Hail Mary, he didn't cry, and then said he was ready - he wanted to go back to his cousins and play.
He came to the funeral, and cried a bit there. But was mostly stoic.
And since then?
We pray every night for Daddy. We thank God for Daddy. I have photos up here and there, and they seem to neither stop and study them or avoid them. There have been a few tearful moments, but honestly not many.
I am sort of at a loss for what to say - if anything. Some people have told me not to push it. Others have said to sit with them (Joseph especially) and check in with how they are doing, about their feelings and such.
Things have come out in odd moments.
For weeks, Joseph has been obsessed with the UAB Blazers basketball game that was last Saturday - against Marshall. I don't know if Michael had promised him they would go to it, or what (they had been to one game..in December, I think.) But obsessed is not too mild a word. Joseph would check the calendar, ask me to look on the website - all to make sure that this was the game, that it was still happening.
So last Saturday, we went.
By 2/3 through the first half, I could tell Joseph was uninterested. But it was more than disinterest. It could have been fatigue, it could have been sadness. It was probably both. It was just not the same. It can't be.
On Monday, Michael walked into his preschool and announced to the teacher, "My name isn't Michael. It's Ashko." (or something). She told me when I picked him up, he had been "Ashko" all day. I asked him several times why he changed his name, and most times he just shrugged, but once he said, "Michael is Daddy's name."
There have been moments when Michael says things like, "It's too bad Daddy is dead." And there are still other times I can hear Joseph goading him. "Where's Daddy?" he'll ask, waiting for the uncomprehending, jokey response that Michael will give, "Daddy's DEAD!" and then glance at me. I can't decide what that is all about, except an attempt to get a brother in trouble.
So we journey on. I am working on ways to keep Michael's memory alive for them, to honor what he did as a father to them, to keep them connected. But I remain unsure what to do about their loss in the deepest sense.
There have been hard moments over the past weeks - the hardest are those that come out of the blue, when you do not expect them.
One occurred last week, as I was filling out their school registrations for next year, when I had to write "deceased" in the blank next to "Father." It was, I think, harder and more hurtful to write those 8 letters than it had been for me to spend four hours with his body in the funeral home. Harder, I think, because those eight letters did not just spell out a single word, but spelled out a future for those little boys, who had such a wonderful father, whose uniqueness and gifts I cannot replicate. The letters spelled void, loss, questions, yearning. How in the world can I fill that hole, give them the resources to let God fill that hole, and try to lead them on a path of wholeness?
(Of great help has been Mary DeTurris Poust's book Parenting a Grieving Child)
Michael had the deepest contempt for grief counseling and such. When Joseph was in preK - four years ago - the other preK teacher - a young woman - was killed in a car accident over Christmas break. The school brought in grief counselers, who met with all of the children several times over the ,next few weeks, sitting them in circles, asking them about their feelings.
Oh, he was enraged! Joseph wasn't even in the young woman's class, had very little contact with her, and he felt, even if he had been in her class, that repeated circle time exploring feelings about Miss Jane's death, brought up issues that 4-year olds weren't even feeling. And the bear - oh the bear. They gave them all a teddy bear so they could ..I don't know. Tell their feelings to the teddy bear? I'm not sure. Michael (the Daddy) hated the sight of that bear.
The day we were leaving for Florida, Joseph went in search of something he had to take with him. Something he had not cared about or played with or slept with for a long time.
And as soon as he found it, but not before, when he dug out the teddy bear from the closet - he was ready for the journey.
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As the others have said, this brings back painful memories to me also. My mother died when I was 19 after a prolonged battle with cancer. She was a very strong woman of faith and had remained strong for all of us during her illness. When she died I had such conflicting emotions. I was relieved, even grateful that her suffering was over and she was at peace with God. But I was also extremely angry with God for allowing her to suffer so much. And I was also very angry with her for dying, for leaving me. I felt so abandoned and lost. Nothing anyone said could comfort me, except for an older woman that I worked with. She had lost her husband some years earlier and recognized how much I was hurting. She told me that time does not heal all wounds; the pain will never go away. But that it does fade and become easier to deal with one day at a time. I think that brought me comfort because it acknowledged that the pain is always there and that's OK. We just have to learn how to deal with it. That was over 30 years ago and there are still things that will bring all of those emotions flooding back. So much has happened between now and then, but I know that she's been with me through it all. I think that you are doing what's best for your sons. Be accepting not only of all their emotions, or lack of them, that they may go through. It's OK to not "be strong" for everyone else, it's OK to not know the answer or exactly what to say. Just be there for them. Remember your husband and remember to be gentle and understanding with yourself. I'll keep you all in my prayers.
Amy,
When my dad died (car accident), I was 16, and my younger siblings were 14, 12, and 8. We all digested this loss in ways appropriate to our emotional maturity - I felt it the greatest (and had the greatest fears about our future), my brothers (in the middle) expressed less, but for a few weeks, I could hear their muffled sobs from their rooms when we were home from school. My sister simply asked if my mom was going to marry again (she never did), and tried not to give my mom any trouble to add to her stress.
Because my mom is something of a stoic, and not prone to sharing her deepest fears, she never really encouraged us to talk too openly about our hearts. Her MO was to pick yourselves up by your bootstraps and forge on. (Typical choleric temperament.) Privately, I would gently talk to my sister about Daddy, and at Christmas (a month after his death) that year, tried hard to help her feel comforted, but I now know that this was my own attempt at self-comfort - by talking to her I was trying to convince myself that he was with God, that we would be ok, that somehow things would work out. You may be seeing this in Joseph's childlike attempts to goad Michael into conversation about his dad's death.
My advice is to make a little prayer corner in your home, like the Byzantines do, with an icon and a photo(s) of your husband, and buy a big box of colored votives and make it a special place to pray-talk about all of you - all your needs as a family. My mom's style was to bull us into rosaries, with her occasionally collapsing into tears with us looking on in fear, feeling useless and unable to articulate anything. She'd compose herself and we'd look on paralyzed at seeing her break down. Do let your children know you're sad - don't hide or minimize it- but do make sure they learn from you the great hope our faith is all about - that in the midst of great sorrow, or great heartbreak, we are still held and cherished by the Lord, and that it's ok to speak aloud and lay, as a prayer offering, your heart before Him. Also teach them that the strength to carry on to the next day, and be able to figure it out without Daddy's help, will come from both him and God in heaven, making it doubly good. Seeing their dad as an intercessor is a wonderful thing for them to learn, too.
Just keep placing yourself in His hands each day. The cliche may seem weak and annoying, but it is true that time (and heaven!) does heal all things, and that Christ does indeed "make all things new".
Amy,
A while back I heard about an interesting study related to this. I can't remember details, but it was a study of children in fatherless homes -- fatherless for a variety of reasons. It seems the interesting point was that kids whose fathers had died, such as police officers or firefighters in the line of duty, showed much the same traits as kids who had a father active in the home. They were less like the kids whose fathers had abandoned them or who had never been present. Something about the power of a father, even after death, if the father was a good man who was well-remembered, and their mother emphasized how their father would have been so proud of them, etc. to keep his memory alive.
That story really stayed with me, perhaps because I heard about it around the time a friend of mine died suddenly and left his wife and three children behind. It comforted me to know that keeping John's picture in their home, maintaining friendships with his friends and coworkers, and telling stories about him would help keep him alive, in a sense, still watching over his children, fathering them if only in spirit, and keeping them moving in the right direction.
Although I did not know Michael, he now comes to mind whenever I think of my friend John Ennis, and I think of John every day. So when I pray for John's family that he loved so much, I automatically think of you guys, too, the family Michael loved so much, and I pray for you all together. May God bless you.
We have a center in Cincinnati specifically for children who have lost a family member. I'd recommend checking out the Fernside website to see if they have any online resources.
Amy:
I had wondered about this topic and "glad" to see you write something about it. My dad died when I was five and while difficult, not as bad as some would imagine. I think that your older boy may have more of an (internal) reaction. I also have two boys about the ages of your two guys. So I was touched by what happened to you. My continued prayers for you and the family. God bless.
Eric
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