I would like to make a comment on this, very heart-wrenching story.  My oldest (half) sister lost her mom when she was 12 years old.  She never really dealt with the loss until she was in her 40’s, when she was dealing with serious health issues herself.  She was afraid to show any real emotion around my dad, or talk about her much with him because she felt that doing so would hurt him, so she kept it all in.  When she finally dealt with it so many years later, it was devastating to her.  I also have a neice and nephews who lost their mother when they were under 10, and their father wouldn’t talk about it at all - this also had very serious consequences with these kids.  I think that you cannot force kids to talk about it, but it may be helpful to tell them lots of times that you are open to talking about this at any time that they want to do so.  Also it might be a good idea to let them know that it does not hurt you to talk about it - that it helps you heal as well.

Amy, Michael and you and your family are still in our prayers - God Bless you!

To me, it sound like all are doing very well.  Just answering questions honestly and immediately, as the come up is important.  You are doing that.  It hasn’t been very long and nothing stays the same. My grandchildren’s cousins lost their mother to cancer 4 years ago.  The youngest girl was six then and is now 10.  Lately she will ask about her mother, but earlier had just tuned things like that out.  Just take your clues from the children.  They will make their needs known.

In my experiences of working with children who have lost parents, I have found that when the living parent brings up memories regularly, this makes the talking about it more normal.  Remember when we would watch that show together and Daddy didn’t think it was funny…..or Daddy used to love that icecream place…Last year Daddy said we should get bushes put in by the driveway…kind of keeping the memory alive and letting them know it isn’t taboo to talk about.  This helps to open up discussions also.  Also setting aside special time to go to a special place like maybe a park you used to visit as a family and just recall memories.  Setting aside time to visit the grave and giving children the opportunity to talk and pray and even bring special things to decorate the grave or draw special pictures to leave for Daddy will be helpful.  Focusing attention on feelings also like on Easter, it is so sad daddy not being here to go to church with us, he really loved the church decorated.  I know he would love to see the eggs you decorated.  Things like that.

When I was five, my father died. I would say from my experience she would need to be honest, to talk about her husband regularly (remember when…), to follow the child’s lead in helping him to grieve. The grieving may come in spurts over time.  The child will also be observing how she deals with the loss.

This can be a confusing time for a young child because a young child deals in concrete thinking.
I believe writing, reading stories with death into life themes, and creating artwork help children to express their loss.

Dear Amy,

I lost my beautiful wife Sheila four years ago this month to sudden cardiac death. I think of her throughout the day, everyday. I have three boys and we speak of her constantly, keeping her memory alive in our thoughts, prayers, actions, and unfolding life stories. My wife was an amazing lover, to all, never counting the cost. Her boys and I are her legacy of Christ’s love to us, embodied in her life song. She reminds me in prayer each day of my vocation as their father to help them to heaven. They are following her example in so many ways. I thought you might enjoy the poem on Motherhood that my son Danny wrote for her because, in a sense, I think it embodies what we all somehow must be for our children. It reminds me of the seemingly impossible task it is to fill the little shoes of my “five-foot-two-eyes-of-blue”, to be at once mother and father:

Motherhood

Motherhood breaks off herself into something else.  Splitting once, splitting again, dividing and dividing, eventually separating, breaking free.  But motherhood is not really separating; it is cleaving, cleaving from and cleaving to.  We break away from our mothers but we pull ourselves closer.  We take from them.  It is a selfless thing to give voluntarily, but a mother does not choose what to give. The child chooses what to take.  Pure motherhood is not the metered giving of a few things but freely allowing the taking of anything.  My mother was a pure mother.

And so we learn from our mothers.  They are willing to give away, and give away, and give away.  They teach us to give, and not to keep.  From them we learn that the beautiful world is still not ours, from them we learn the vanity of clutching this delicate life we cannot hold.  We forget this, frequently.  Very frequently.  My mother was very good at reminding me to find the only thing that lasts; our faith.

So we play roles of mothers and children.  In those moments where we are mothers, we let the hungry children around us nurse.  In the moments when we are children, we find someone strong in the milk of kindness to nourish us, and we cling to them. Like I did to my mother, like we all did to my mother.

She was a mother to Brian, Drew and I, and she was a mother to you.  She left herself open to you, for you to take what you needed.  She gave and did not count the cost.

This is just my part of the story of the little girl from Grosse Pointe Detroit, who grew up right, went away to school, married the man she loved, had three sons, and left us dressed in her scrubs, getting ready to go to work to help the sick and needy.  It is the stories that tie us together, always.  This is her story and I loved every day of being in it.  I loved every day of being her Danny boy.

I love you, Mom.

Amy, You and your boys will remain in our prayers.

God Bless,

John

Remember that we all grieve differently. You, Amy, are the expert on your children.

I am so sorry for your loss…

My prayers are with you and your children.

Trusting in Our Lord’s Divine Mercy, Love, and Providence,

~alicia

Dear Amy,

My heart goes out to you and your boys. I don’t have any advice for you but I just wanted you to know that you are all in my prayers and will stay there for a long time to come.

I love Michael’s book about the Mass, I have been reading it and absorbing it like a sponge. I’ve been a Catholic all my life but I’m still learning and I’m grateful that he wrote it.

May God bless and keep you all close to Him.

To Amy… could any of add one word… one thought… one of our experiences truly make a difference? And yet, we try. Well—I guess hugs are good medicine whether done in person—or e-hugs. But what came to me to share is that at the Mass—during the Consecration—our faith tells us the rules of time and physicality are suspended—and that we are truly in the presence of the Divine… and the entire Heavenly Court… No better time than at Mass to let that reality lift you as you are, perhaps even in Michael’s presence—while also having the ‘ear’ of the Divine. And so we pray… most especially at Mass and ask God’s gentle healing and the gift of answers for the angst and difficult moments and challenges ahead. And ending with a small thing - but one that I haven’t yet seen directly mentioned—remembrance also during the Rosary. Mary… dear, sweet Mary who lost her love—she too is listening. And cares. Blessings. dt

An afterthought from Henri J. M. Nouwen: Being with a friend in great pain is not easy. It makes us uncomfortable. We do not know what to do or what to say, and we worry about how to respond to what we hear. Our temptation is to say things that come more out of our own fear than out of our care for the person in pain. Sometimes we say things like “Well, you’re doing a lot better than yesterday,” or “You will soon be your old self again,” or “I’m sure you will get over this.” But often we know that what we’re saying is not true, and our friends know it too.

We do not have to play games with each other. We can simply say: “I am your friend, I am happy to be with you.” We can say that in words or with touch or with loving silence (or by a loving post on a blog). Sometimes it is good to say: “You don’t have to talk. Just close your eyes. I am here with you, thinking of you, praying for you, loving you.” Blessings again. dt