Opening the Door, and then Following Children's Lead: The Importance of Children Claiming their Stories of Death and Dying

This week, the weather was grey and calling for a storm that could descend on us anytime. Whereas we normally invite the children to decide where we play and roam on the land, tonight, we decided that today wasn’t a day for hiking or roaming too far. This was partially because of the weather and because we didn’t want to invite any unknown elements of risk or logistics (that can be found when you move further from your home base and familiar forest setting). Based on some information shared with us by a parent, we knew that emotions could be high and that our group may need additional comfort, stillness, and predictability. On this day before coming to the forest, two children in our group, with their lion-hearted mom, sat at home and learned the story of how their dad had died. In light of such a big and powerful day, we stayed in the Chickadee forest and settled in for the two-hour session. 

We set out art supplies on the picnic table, including the canvas from a few weeks back with “feelings” written on the front with markers, pastels, scissors, etc. We also added to the mix pre-made journals (simple cardboard, paper and duct tape) that each child could have if they wanted, a place to start writing down their stories. We wanted to ensure there were more materials for individual processing within the groups and more resources to hold us in our conversations and stories. 

The play unfolded as it usually does: tree-climbing and testing of limbs to see if they were strong enough to hold our weight; some children in the fort; making concoctions in the mud kitchen; children looking for snacks and congregating under the tarp with the pitter patter of early rain; and, some children beginning to draw and create their own Grief Journals. 

What was profound about this day wasn’t necessarily the play (although the play wows me every single time!) but rather an ease that came through in our play and dialogue. The two children, who had learned about the circumstances of their father’s death earlier that day, were presenting with a quiet kind of eagerness, a confidence about them that hadn’t been present in earlier sessions. They pulled each facilitator aside to share what they learned and the questions and feelings it left them with. One of the children worked on their Grief Journal, spending an hour writing down the story of their dad’s death in a marker, “This is how my dad died”... claiming these facts as their own, sharing this story with others earnestly.

 

This became an invitation for others to begin sharing more about who had died that they loved. Some children drew pictures on the canvas of their whole family, including the person who had died. Some talked in the present tense about what they love the most about their mom or their dad who had died. Others said the names of their parents for the first time in our grief group. 

So, what meaning can we make of this, you ask? What was happening was these children were feeling comfortable and safe, bringing their stories, sorrows, joys and remembering into their play. Children knowing and then claiming their stories, even the hard parts, holds so much power for the children and their families. 

No matter how we shape it or want to avoid it, children are impacted by the death of the ones they love. Our instinct as adults is to protect them, to shield them from the horrors and tragedies of the world, and to place them in the cocoon of our love and to never let them go. But, what happens when death doesn’t just knock at our door but rather blows the whole house down and leaves us all ravaged in its wake? Knowing how to be with a child, how to hold space for the complexities of this grief, is no small order. I’m here to say, it’s okay if you feel that you haven’t gotten it “right”. 

I’m learning there is no one way to be, no perfect pathway to walk and that some questions have no good answers. We pause, we crumble, we pick up the pieces, and we put one foot in front of the other. We rage, we cry, we deny, the whole gamut of emotions must be felt and experienced. We go through the motions, we numb, and we do the best we can in every given moment. 

I’m also learning that as we stumble along this path of grief, there are practices that we can lean on to help ease the burden that children and caregivers carry, both in the short and long term. One best practice that several of our staff members learned in the Sick Kids Children’s Grief and Bereavement Certificate Program facilitated by Andrea Warnick was the importance of communicating with children how their person died, in clear and simple terms, and in a developmentally appropriate way. Why? Put simply, when children haven’t been told the cause of death, or explicitly that a parent is dying if the death is anticipated, they tend to blame themselves and fill in the blanks. 

In module one of this children’s grief certificate we also learned that “children’s level of anxiety is related to whether they are told about the illness and to the quality of the communication with their parents” (L. Kroll, J. Barnes & A. Stein, 1998)” In other words, children will sense what isn’t being spoken, they will hold the anxiety of all that goes unsaid, and how we communicate as well as what we communicate matters. The American Academy of Pediatrics reiterates the importance of sharing the cause of death with children, “understanding the cause of death helps a child be less likely to think their loved one died because of something your child did, said or thought. It will also make it less likely that they will blame the person that died and be ashamed of the death.” 

In the same course with Andrea Warnick we also learned that children have five common questions or needs for assurance when someone has died or is dying:

The Five C’s:

• Did I Cause it?
• Can I Catch it?
• Can I Cure it?
• Who is going to take Care of me?
• How will I stay Connected to the person I love (who is dying or who has died)?

So, stumble as we may, opening to this conversation and coming back to it as much as the child(ren) needs to, will be a powerful part of the grieving process. The first step? Start the conversation, and find simple terms and words to describe the cause of death. From there, take your child’s lead and let them know that they can ask any question they wish and can come to you as often as they need to to have continued conversations. After all, our job as caregivers isn’t to be perfect, particularly when we are grieving or going through adversity. Instead, we can view our role as door openers and from there attuned observers and followers of children’s lead.