“I wish I could have met G-Pa, Mommy,” said the small voice in the back seat of the car.
I sigh. “Me too, honey. Me too.”
The kids both know my father died when I was young. We talk about it occasionally and they ask questions at random moments. Lately, it’s been in the car.
“Were you sad when he died?” “I bet GGMama (my grandmother) was very sad.” “Is he in heaven?”
These are always tough conversations, sometimes bringing up feelings that are usually dormant within me, but not still. I want to be honest with my kids as obviously death is a part of life. But it’s so hard to find the right words. They’re so young still and I’m desperate for a magic bubble to place around them, shielding them from the inevitable ugly parts of life.
That’s not possible. I know it.
Em is in a period where she talks about death a lot. She doesn’t yet understand the finality of it and talks of it casually. Like many of her preschool friends, she acts as if you can kiss a person after they’ve died and they’ll awaken and smile up at you, much like Sleeping Beauty and Snow White. I don’t quite know how to talk about the permanence of it as I don’t want to scare her nor cause her anxiety. So for now, I leave it be.
I don’t have words for how I felt when my father died as I don’t remember. I was exactly Em’s age when he passed and even typing that out has caused a pit in my stomach and a large knot in my throat.
The tears come regardless. I look at that face, that sweet, innocent face and see myself. As a mother, I cannot even begin to comprehend what my own mother thought and felt at that time. How was she able to explain when there is no good explanation?
Then come the questions about heaven and God. Again, I find myself at a loss for words. How can I provide answers for something in which I only have more questions? I flounder, stumble and do my best. I tell them what I believe heaven to be and what I hope it to be. Aidan asks if we’ll see my father and grandfather again. I tell him I hope so, that in my version of heaven, we are surrounded by all of those we love who’ve gone before us.
He smiles at me in the rear view mirror and says “I like that Mommy. I hope so too.”
And just like that, the conversation is over. We’re back to talking about what they did on the playground at school, their favorite Odd Squad episode and who can run the fastest.
They are not phased, but I sure am. They’ve opened up a box that seems to be overflowing. As a parent, I can only do my best. I can only teach what I know. And I have limits, to my knowledge, to my abilities.
That in and of itself is a lesson that I’m still learning.
Now I wait for the next round of questions.
Always in the car. Same with us. It’s so hard to provide answers when there are still so many questions. I think you handled it perfectly.
What is it with the car? This has happened to us too– the kids ask about my dad and then OUR grandparents. So tough!
Inevitable but heart wrenching nonetheless. The conversations about all things life…and death. Sounds like you are doing a wonderful job. Those that we loved remain alive for those that follow by the wonderful memories we choose to share……
I think you did so well. So very well. It’s so hard to figure out and it’s a part of every day sometimes, but I think we’ll all get there in the right way. Does that even make sense? Sigh. What a tricky topic.