The little boys were at church today with their grandparents. Their father is too distraught to do much of anything. When I saw the boys walk in to the church my heart lurched. Their mother died just over a week ago, after a brief illness. I had no idea what to expect. Sad, crying little boys? But during the first part of the service they seemed fine, typical 7 and 5 year olds in church.
The time came for us to take them back to the Sunday school with us. It was a small group, only 5 children, everyone else gone for summer. We sat in our usual circle and passed the chalice to talk about our sads and glads. I held my breath, prepared to offer words of comfort for the inevitable sads. But they didn't come. The boys were in great spirits talking happily about their life. I was both surprised and relieved.
We all sat at the table and created sculptures from plasticene, and talked about our summer, and what we were creating, and about school starting and about funny things that had happened to us. The boys remained cheerful and no mention was made of the mother they had just lost. And it occurred to me that they are too young to fully comprehend their loss. Not in the way we adults do. Not the finality of it. Not the devastating sadness of a woman taken too young, from little boys who need her so much. Not the anger at the injustice of it all. Children's lives are immediate. They live in the moment. And there will be many painful moments of missing their mom. Bedtime, when they get hurt, when something reminds them of her, when daddy says no and they don't have mommy to appeal to. And they will feel sad and they will cry, but it will be momentary. They will find themselves feeling angry and they will act out, but they won't understand why.
As they grow, her memory will fade, but they will grieve her differently throughout their lives at different stages of development. They will grow up with only distant memories of her. She will live in their psyche, and in their hearts, but they will mostly remember her through stories others tell them. I am so grateful for the blessed innocence of their youth, that protective layer that lets them continue to believe that nothing bad can really happen, that mommy isn't really gone forever. And I wish for them a happy life, full of love and nurturing and in their heart that little ember from the love of the one who was there at their beginning.
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2 comments:
How terribly sad, but you are right, it's a blessing that they are too young to fully understand the scope of the loss.
A few months ago I sang at a funeral for some family friends. It was the second major loss for that family in less than a year. After the service I was chatting with my friend, asking her how her flight had been with her three children. She said it was OK, but the youngest (who is probably around 6 or 7) would not be parted from his teddy bear. Apparently he asked her if his teddy bear was going to die and leave him too. Sigh.
Wow. That post was a minefield! What tension as I anticipated some heartbreaking moment was looming. I'm no early childhood expert whatsoever but I will indulge in an outsider's thoughts if you don't mind:
I see that adults generally have different understandings than kids but perhaps not always better. I think we assemble more societal fears and anxieties as we "mature" and generally rationalize and believe what seems to please or protect us without genuine regard for truth and don't even know we're doing it. I think most adults remain far detached from reality our whole lives, in denial and/or ignorance of the reams of contradiction we concoct.
I wonder if we maybe treat kids like little idiots too much and for too long and confuse them with lies such as the various supernatural powers of the Santa Clause.
I suppose the heartbreaking question of teddy bear's mortality is in essence an intelligent question given the circumstances of a 6-year-old and the tremendous chore they face in sorting out their world?
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