I felt like I was starting from scratch as a parent when my husband died
MY M IDDLE ch ild l oves to go to t he c emetery. H e l oves t he wide open spaces and the funny statues. He loves to look at the gravestones a nd r ead t he o ldfashioned names. We hold hands and explore together. He loves to be t here, e ven t hough, a t s even years old, he is much too young to have to visit his father’s grave there.
His nine-year- old sister refuses to go. Yes, she misses her dad, but she d oesn’t w ant to b e s ad, a nd she knows she’d get “teary- eyed” if she went there. She also doesn’t want me to be sad, and she certainly doesn’t want me to cry in p ublic, so sh e’d m uch r ather avoid the cemetery.
But I t hink i t’s i mportant to go back to t he place where, only four months ago, we placed their father’s b ody in th e g round. I don’t want it to be a scary place. I want it to be a place where we can remember their dad together. And yet, my daughter simply refuses. Because s he’s a p eople-pleaser, she will tell me that she’ll think about i t, a nd t hen wi ll ref use when the time comes.
I am th eir m other, th eir s ole living pa rent, a nd so I ma ke the de cisions. B ut w hat do I do when I don’t really know what I should d o? Should I pu sh h er t o go, knowing it would probably be a good experience to spend some time thinking about her dad and talking about his life? Or should I let her stay home, knowing that she might need a b reak from a ll the discussion of death that she’s endured in the past few months?
When do I push my kids out of their comfort zones, and when do I pull them close and keep them safe and warm? It’s every parent’s dilemma.
I think I was probably like a lot of parents before my husband got sick last autumn. I am a teacher, and I ran a decently tight ship at home. I tried to set limits, pushed my kids to attend activities they committed to even i f they didn’t feel l ike go ing, a nd m ade su re we ad hered to a sch edule - a nd definitely a bedtime.
But I a m n ot t he s ame p arent that my children had a few months ago. Grief has changed me. I can’t tell you how much television my kids watch on a daily basis, but I do know that they can al l quote lengthy passages from the Disney show “Jessie.” My m iddle k id was on a b asketball t eam t hat started in November, and though he went to a few games, once my husband got really sick I stopped pushing h im to go . I t j ust to ok one “But I r eally don ’t wa nt t o go!” a nd I r elented. W e h aven’t done a pr oper f amily d inner i n months b ecause I am not r eally cooking and because the di ning room ta ble i s fi lled w ith b ank statements a nd fu neral r eceipts and forms from my attorney.
Right a fter my h usband di ed, I got a l ot of t houghtful ad vice from friends and family. Gently, many of t hem s ent me em ails that s tarted w ith s omething like, “Here’s a little thing I know about,” and attached a l ink to a grief group or camp or counsellor. It wa s mo stly help ful, b ut t here was ju st s o m uch i nformation, most of which was about getting my k ids to t herapy a nd get ting them th ere q uickly. Th ey w ere seeing the school counsellors, so I wa sn’t su re t hey ne eded mor e help, but what did I k now? I h ad never lived through this.
I eve ntually fou nd a n out side grief counsellor who works solely with kids. She was knowledgeable, kind and warm. I think everyone felt b etter t hat I w as get ting help for my k ids; I e ven saw my mother-in-law m ention h ow “everyone wa s g etting t herapy” to a friend on her Facebook page.
In m any wa ys, t herapy wa s great f or m y k ids, a nd t he counsellor helped me more fully understand w hat w as go ing o n inside th eir h eads. A fter o ne particularly lo ng s ession, t he counsellor came out and told me my son thought that his dad had gotten c olon c ancer f rom e ating too m any h ot d ogs. L uckily, m y sister, a nurse, was with me that day, a nd sh e e xplained to h im why this was not true and why he didn’t need to worry when eating hot dogs.
But t herapy was d isruptive to the sch ool d ay a nd de finitely to after-school pl aytime. T he k ids resisted go ing f or t hat r eason. One da y, m y da ughter fi nally said to me: “I don’t want to go. I like the therapist, but I feel fine. Can w e j ust sto p d oing a ll t his stuff, Mom? I just want to have a normal life.”
What’s the answer here? I asked around, but I don’t have any other widow f riends wi th y oung ki ds. They exist, and I’ve met a few in my a rea, b ut n one i s o ne of m y trusted people.
Before, i t w as e asy to m ake a parenting de cision, a nd w hen I did, my h usband a lmost a lways agreed with me. At the very least, we backed each other up in front of our ch ildren a nd debated t he decision l ater. S ometimes I wa s wrong. For example, a few years ago I was furious at my husband for t aking ou r t hen a lmost-fiveyear-old to “The Force Awakens,” since I felt he was much too young to go to such a movie. But seeing the original “Star Wars” movies was what my husband had done in th e 1 980s w ith h is own d ad, and it meant a lot for him to take our son. I’m glad he overrode me, because our son has that memory with his dad forever.
But now there’s no one to argue with over pa renting. T here’s n o one to back me up, either. There’s just me, and it’s as though I have to start from scratch.
So what do I do when my fouryearold get s u pset b ecause I ’m ignoring h im a nd sl ams h is bedroom door?
This wa s onc e t he c ardinal sin i n our h ouse, a nd a de finite timeout. T he s econd t hat it happened, I f elt m y a nger flare, a nd I y elled h is n ame. H e immediately st arted cr ying a nd ran to me, screaming, “Mommy, mommy, mom my,” a nd bu ried his head in my lap. He wouldn’t let go. What am I supposed to do with this? Follow my old script, and t ell h im th at th ere ar e consequences for his actions? Or reach d own a nd pull h im cl ose, reminding h im th at h is m om loves him so much even when he messes up?
Before m y h usband l eft t his Earth, I wanted my children to be so many th ings: Go od s tudents, thoughtful f riends, c reative minds, am azing g uitarists. I guess I still want all those things, in th eory. B ut i f I am h onest, I wa nt on ly t wo t hings: I wa nt them to feel safe, and I want them to feel loved.
And s o, m y fou r-year- old g ot a h ug t hat d ay, a nd h e got to finish c rying i n my la p. H e di d not get a t imeout. This seems to be m y n ew m ode of p arenting. Now, instead of encouraging my kids to work on a class project or practise a n i nstrument, I of ten find myself cuddled up with them on t he c ouch, wa tching b ad T V with three little heads on my lap. Instead of t elling m y ch ildren that it’s bedtime, I lie down with them in th eir b eds, w atching them f all a sleep an d th inking about how much they all resemble their father.
I’m still pushing, at least a bit. When m y y oungest cr ies t hat he do esn’t wa nt t o go t o s chool, I m ake h im go . W hen h is o lder brother r esists go ing t o church, we st ill a ttend. A nd w hen m y daughter doesn’t want to go back to her guitar lessons without her dad, I t ell her she still has to go , but I’ll go in his place. I hug them tightly when I hold the l ine, but these are t imes I do stand fi rm. — WP-Bloomberg