Exposing children to grief is a good thing

We’re friends, so I’ll tell you the worst thing that’s ever happened to me —my Daddy died one beautiful summer day in South Carolina just after 6 p.m. before the sky collapsed into an array of cotton candy colors like I’d never seen before, or since.

He was the best friend I’ve ever had — funny, creative, industrious, kind, adventurous, and he understood me completely. But cancer took him, just after my now-husband asked him and my Mama for my hand in marriage. It was the summer before my last year of law school and the day before my 24^th birthday. I made it through law school and through my wedding (that my husband planned) and through my sister’s graduation from undergrad. But it was the most I could do. Then I collapsed into grief. 

I have a lovely life, a truly enviable one. It is filled with love and family and close friendships and material comfort. But sometimes I still collapse into grief. Its searing pain has dulled some over the past 11 years, so that sometimes it’s smiles and tears rather than sitting slumped on the floor, sobbing over the impossible past. But writing this has still created a puddle of tears on my chest. And the smell of fresh-cut grass in spring still makes my eyes sting. And waking up on Christmas without him is always a kick in the gut, even with a house full to the brim with children and love and laughter. 

I know that it’s common for people to keep children in a bubble until we feel like they’re able to fully understand the nuance of emotions and death. But it’s not the right answer for me because: 

1. I want them to know me fully.

I want to care for them well, but I need them to see me as a full person, not just their mom. Because one day, if they are very lucky 😉 they’ll each have a wife who will be more than just who she is in relation to them. And full people have feelings and moods and a history that doesn’t always include you. My Daddy dying is a major life event for me. And while my kids weren’t around to experience it first-hand, because they love me, they need to understand the things that have shaped me. 

2. I want to model for them what it looks like to have emotions wash over you and then dissipate.

Feelings are just feelings. They can come, you experience them, name what you feel, and then use your coping skills to move on. It’s what I teach them, and sometimes it’s time for me to step up and model it myself, in real time. 

3. I want to continue to talk about my Daddy freely.

I want to continue to let him live through me. I want to tell my boys when they remind me of him, even if it makes me cry. And when they stick their tongue out of the corner of their mouth when they’re concentrating, just like he used to, I want to chuckle and have them understand why. And I want them to join me in saying “Hey Daddy/Papa Tuck” every time a yellow butterfly flutters near us.

I don’t only miss him; I miss how the world felt with him in it. So while they didn’t get to know that world, I need them to get a glimpse. And I need to remember.

4. Lastly, I sometimes share the bad stuff with them because I want them to understand that while a good God loves us, everything will not always go our way.

The world is filled with horrors. When the news brings me to my knees and tears streak my face on the way to school or turns our bedtime prayers from people and things they know to suffering in places they don’t, I want their love and empathy to extend there too. If they know what it feels like to love someone who is suffering, then they are better able to extend that feeling to others. And all I’ve ever wanted is to raise children with soft hearts, strong spines, and a flair for adventure. 

So if sometimes grief washes over you, take this as your reminder that you can let it. You don’t have to cry in your closet. Your children are well-adjusted enough to see your sadness and love you through it. And you’re setting the good example that just like their big feelings don’t scare us or define them, trust that ours won’t scare them or define us in their eyes.