I cried when Ryan brought lunch to me in our home office and informed me Fishy Coco was dead.
It wasn’t that I was particularly fond of the fish. Fish don’t have much personality, and I understand their fleeting life span and how humans can easily ruin them if we’re not careful. I knew the fragility of life in the fishbowl when I bought him, but the measured risk felt worth it in order to do something special during a difficult time.
I never imagined a little fighting fish could be a symbol of hope and new life while I grieved, but that’s exactly what he was when I took the hand of three-year-old Levi and made a big deal about choosing our first family pet together in aisle six of the Pet Emporium.
For months I checked that stupid fish multiple times a day for signs of life. I realize how silly it sounds, but somehow that fish was wrapped up in my expectations of life sustained, and conquering hard stuff, and the balance of things being right in the world. I just needed him to keep living. That very morning I had ensured he was still alive—my little piece of life safely contained in a pretty glass bowl. As I verified his still-rippling fins, I muttered curse words under my breath at the insanity of getting him in the first place when I was terrified he would die and force me to hold my son’s face in my hands and explain death to him again.
I was secretly afraid that a dead fish would break him. (Or break me.)
But instead, Levi marched up to me and announced: “Fishy Coco is dead, Mama. Daddy ‘fushed’ him down the toilet.” And that was that.
Levi never blamed anyone or asked why or even got upset. Things live and die; apparently he embraced this reality just as concretely as he knew dinner would appear on the table sometime around 6:00 p.m.
I never expected my small child to have the capacity to let go so easily. But this was our life after loss.
Obviously, losing a fish is completely different than losing a baby or a relative or a friend (or even a beloved family dog or cat), but the ease with which he accepted death still surprised me.
His indifference toward losing Fishy Coco also assured me he was cognizant of the difference between a fighting fish and the baby he never saw. For months, out of the blue he would say things like, “I miss the baby, Mama. I feel sad.” Or, “I wish the baby coulda’ come home instead of go’d to heaven.” He never said such things about the fish.
Knowing about our miscarriage also instilled a new depth of empathy in our young son. Now and then he would notice I was a bit misty-eyed or quiet and would say, “Are you sad about the baby today, Mama?” If I responded with a yes, he would say, “Me too,” and give me a hug or crawl into my lap for a cuddle. My initial worry about burdening him was replaced with the joy of seeing him operate as a little healer—beginning to realize his own capacity to care for others in their pain. Perhaps he was more sad about seeing me sad than he was about losing the baby, but either way the response that followed was precious.
Because we were open about our loss and our heartache, Levi was actively learning to be open about the stirrings of his own heart and soul too. (And this was repeated and deepened after our next two miscarriages, as both Levi and Judah got older and continued to comprehend more.)
Though I’m not thankful our miscarriages happened, I’ll always appreciate the experience of grieving together as a family in our kids’ early days, and I’ll always believe these events played a part in building the empathy we so easily recognize in their lives today.
Being a child’s first teacher is one of the greatest honors of parenthood, and there’s no better environment to tackle the vulnerabilities and challenges of life together than within the safety of our nurturing love. Home is a learning ground for all of life, and although we can’t teach our kids how to respond to every possible situation they may encounter later in life, we can do our best to teach them principles and values about how to respond to the important ones. Further, as people of faith, these issues of life and death are central to our belief system, so why would we shelter our kids from learning about something so important?
I realize that while you’re grieving you may not be thinking extensively about this opportunity to help nurture your child’s heart. The desire may be there, but the capacity to think it through may not be. The following are some practical suggestions for how to help your kids process their grief, should you choose to include them. (I respect that some parents feel it’s best not to, and that others cannot include their children for varied reasons. As a parent, you’re the one most suited to determine what’s best for your family.) This list is not intended to be exhaustive, and I encourage you to access resources from professionals who specialize in dealing with childhood grief as needed.
1. Be honest with your kids.
Kids intuit so much that even if you tried to hide your grief from them, chances are they’d still suspect something is going on. Being honest with them about what happened not only gives them understanding as to what they’re picking up from your behavior or the undercurrent in your home but also gives them a chance to learn how to process heartache within the safest environment they know—your family.
2. Avoid euphemisms.
Use simple and accurate words to describe what happened. If you say, “Mommy lost the baby,” your young child might misinterpret your words and become fearful of you losing her too. Don’t say things like “The baby is sleeping,” or “The baby is an angel now.” Because these are untrue, they can be confusing for a young child to process (i.e., they might think, If I go to sleep will I, too, never wake up?). Instead, be honest while still using age-appropriate language. For a younger child this might be: “The baby in Mommy’s tummy died.” For an older child you might say: “We found out the baby’s heart stopped beating. This means the baby has not only stopped growing but has died. The doctors aren’t sure why it happened.” The Child Mind Institute suggests starting with the minimum amount of (accurate) information and then adding more based on the questions they ask.1
Some children are naturally more inquisitive than others, but all children are curious, whether they know how to verbalize their curiosity or not. Encourage question-asking by inviting their questions. For example, you could ask, “Is there anything you’d like to know about Mommy’s visit to the hospital after the baby died?” or “If you could ask Jesus one thing about our baby, what would you ask?” You could also ask open-ended questions to get conversation started, such as “How did you feel when we told you the baby has died?” or “How do you feel when you see that Mommy is sad?”
4. Be willing to say, “I don’t know.”
If you have answers to your child’s questions, then answer them honestly. But if not, don’t pretend you do or sidestep the question. It’s tempting to be fearful that admitting we don’t know will undermine our child’s confidence at a time they need it most, but admitting we don’t know the answers can be a powerful tool of identification and connection. Your humility can instill confidence in them as they see you trust them enough to be vulnerable. If answers are available, commit to looking for them together (such as searching scripture to learn more about heaven).
5. Alleviate their emotional stress.
As you help your child process, preemptively address some common concerns, even if they haven’t been able to articulate them. Make sure they understand it’s not their fault. (Perhaps they secretly felt jealous of the baby and now worry they somehow contributed to the miscarriage.) Tell them that although you’re upset about the baby dying, you’re not upset with them.
6. Process through reading, writing, art, and play.
Read age-appropriate storybooks on loss and grief (see appendix F). Encourage them to draw a picture that describes what happened or how they feel now. Play a few different songs and ask them to choose one that sounds like how they feel. If your child is older, encourage them to write how they feel perhaps through a series of back-and-forth journaling with you, or give them a prompt to write their response to, such as writing a letter to Jesus about how they feel or penning a note to the baby telling her anything they’d like her to know. Give your child the space to work out their feelings toward death through normal imaginative play.
7. Receive your child’s empathy and care.
Understanding that our children are human too, it’s important we give them opportunity to express themselves as not just the recipients of comfort but also its givers. Open your heart to receive the care they offer. Allowing your kids the chance to minister to your soul builds something special in them as they realize that they, too, have something beautiful to offer the world. They will bless you with their kindness! And you will bless them with your humility to receive it.
8. Understand that each child will grieve differently.
Just as we respond differently to grief (we explored this in part III), children are unique individuals too. Their personality, experiences, age, and mental and emotional capacity will factor into their response. They might display behavioral problems, regression, moodiness, nightmares, magical play, fascination with death, bed-wetting, or any number of things.2 (See appendix F for professional resources regarding grief during different developmental stages of childhood.)
9. Provide security through your environment.
As much as possible, try to maintain your family’s most important routines. This might mean your weekly rhythm of game night or your one-on-one prayers before bedtime. Grief and loss do interrupt our lives and routines, but consider a few key areas where you can remain consistent. Having something predictable and steady will be a calming anchor in your child’s day and week.
10. Make room for one-on-one time.
As you grieve, you might need some space to be alone, and I hope by this point in the book you’ve given yourself permission for that. Consider also that your child might need extra attention from you, and think of opportunities to meet their needs in ways you’ll both find life-giving. Get down on the floor with them to play LEGOs or dress dollies, take them on a date to play UNO over milkshakes, let them spend the night in bed with you one night, ask them if they’ll go on a hike with you to a favorite lookout, invite them to a café to read aloud a chapter book over hot chocolate. (If you’re aware of your child’s “love language,” consider how you can demonstrate your love to them in ways that best fill their tank.3)
11. Introduce or reinforce relevant aspects of your faith.
As a Christian, there’s no better time to discuss your core beliefs about the afterlife. Don’t embellish what we don’t know, but do emphasize the promises of Jesus that there will be a time when he wipes away every tear and we will feel pain no more. Assure them your baby is safe with Jesus, and let them explore what they believe through prayer, Bible reading, and thoughtful discussion with you. Encourage them to use the gift of imagination when wondering together what heaven—life with Jesus—might be like (i.e., “I imagine heaven might . . .”).
12. Use ritual or ceremony to mark your baby’s life.
Create a memory that your child can look back on to mark the baby’s life. Consider asking them if there’s a way they’d like to remember the baby or suggest a way yourself (see appendix B for ideas).
13. Give the child a special gift or comfort item.
(This is particularly helpful for a child who seems to need extra comfort or care.) A friend of mine turned her husband’s favorite shirts into “Daddy pillows” for her children to cuddle after he died.4 You could do something similar with a special baby outfit or blanket, or you could allow the child to choose a new stuffed toy to hug and cuddle when they are missing the baby.
14. Inform care providers.
If your child goes to school or daycare, make sure their care providers and teachers know what’s happened in case your child needs extra support.
15. Get professional help.
You are the best student of your child, and they will teach you what they need. If you believe they need more help processing their grief than you are equipped to give, find a qualified professional counselor who is trained in grief counseling for children.