You learn something everyday . . .

Today's my day to post in the coComment Mom/Parenting Challenge.


You learn something everyday . . .

Talking with my children about the realities of my father's health and then his death had never been a problem for me. We told them honestly what was going on and what had happened. Since he passed away in March, we've mentioned my father a lot and asked the kids often how they were feeling. But I learned last week that maybe all of the information wasn't really leading us to any kind of a discussion about what they were really thinking.

The Scenario:

My father was on my mind a lot last week and had decided to write a post about just how much I missed him and how truly sad I was.

As I sat at the computer writing my post, the Bean walked into the room. She asked, "What are you doing?" I said, "Writing about Bob." She replied, "He wasn't that fun." It was hard to hear her say that she didn't think my dad was "fun". To realize that all she knows from her own experience are the last two or three years of his life when he was tired most of time. I turned to her tears welling up in my eyes already puffy ready eyes and said, "Well, for most of your life he was pretty sick. And he was fun."

She put her arms around me to comfort me as I heaved in despair and calmly stated, "I'm sorry mommy, that's just how I felt about him." I kept bawling. And then she said, "I thought you'd forgotten about him." I looked up at her stunned and whispered, "No, I think about him everyday."

I wept for a while that day and my sweet wonderful daughter held me tight and just kept saying, "It's going to be OK Mommy. It really is."

What I learned:

As healthy as I felt about grieving process, I hadn't realized how little I'd cried in front of kids. I mean here I sit at my computer blogging, reminiscing, processing and sobbing for all of the world, but I wasn't crying in front of them. It's not easy to be so vulnerable in front of your children and I think as parents we often unconsciously hide some of our emotions to shield and protect them from pain of any kind.

On that day I recognized that my daughter had interpreted the absence of tears as forgetting. I was also reminded that sometimes what our children don't see or experience forms as much of their interpretation of the world around them as what they are seeing and experiencing.

I know that as the Bean grows up and learns more about her grandfather (and all of her grandparents) she'll realize that he was really fun. Even though she's only five, I also have to allow her the opportunity to feel how she feels without judgement and form her own opinions.

Hmm, I thought I had a couple of years before the heavy stuff.