When the Children Cry

How does one help a 4-year-old and a 2-year-old grieve?  Especially how does one do it when handling one's own grief (and a lot of other emotions I won't get into tonight!)? 

This week has been a hard one on my children.  My in-laws had to put their dog down last Monday, and my kids considered him theirs.  He was very playful with them; our dogs are more protective/maternal towards them than playful.  They LOVED Cosmo. 

Saturday my husband of only 3 more weeks moved off the property.  I have been gently talking about the eventuality with them, but an enlightening and misdirected text forced "eventually" to become "right this second, if not sooner." 

And if you can believe it, I think Sharky the Betta is dying.  He hasn't eaten in a week and spends way too much time resting on the bottom of his vase before spasmodically swimming like a maniac and then resting on the bottom again.  Did it have to be HIS fish????

The worst of it came Sunday night after my in-laws (who are amazing, by the way), the ex-to-be, my kids, and I attended a PawSox game.  (The Sox won, we ate Cracker Jacks and hot dogs, and Grammy managed to grab a game ball for Ranita . . . who could ask for anything more???)

Then it was time to go.  The kids knew the turtle was staying with Grammy and Pop.  They knew the fishing gear was staying with Grammy and Pop.  With Grammy, Pop, Daddy, and Chinchita right there, Ranita asks, "Is Daddy going home with us?"

My stomach clenches.  "No, honey.  Daddy doesn't live with us anymore," I answer.

"But where's he going to stay?"

Bigger stomach clench.  A bit of teeth clench as well.  "I don't know where Daddy is staying."

"But I'll never see him again!" he wails.  

Poor Grammy is crying.  Poor Ranita is crying.  I want to throw up on someone very specific.  I am trying to sound calm, matter-of-fact, and reassuring. 

I get down on my knees and hold him by the shoulders.  "Oh, no, Honey.  You'll still see him on Daddy days." 

"He doesn't love me.  He doesn't want to live with me!"

By now I am ready to claw someone's eyes out.  "No, no.  Daddy loves you and wants you.  Daddy just doesn't want to live with Mommy anymore." 

I bustle them into the car.  Daddy says he loves them and will see them on Daddy Day.  We drive away. 

My son sits in the back half-sobbing.  I say something to the effect of, "I know change can be hard.  It's okay to be sad.  I love you.  I am always here for you.  Daddy loves you.  God loves you."  Not helping. 

Incidentally, my radio spontaneously died earlier that day, so we're driving in silence broken only by my devastated child's heartache.  So I do the only thing I've ever known to do when my babies are inconsolable.  "Do you want me to sing to you?"

He nods.  "Sing the lullaby with the cradle."  (I HATE Rock-a-bye-baby!  Who tells their kids they're going to fall out of a tree???? I NEVER sang it to them--they learned it from Pandora's Christian Toddler station--but I sang it last night.)

For the next 45 minutes I go through all the lullabies I used to sing when they were wee little things.  I sang the songs I wrote myself for each of them in Spanish.  I sang the Cradle Song in German.  I sang the Lullabies and Night Songs set in English.  And then I made some up spur of the moment, prayers for them, for peace, and love, and rest, and joy. 

And my heart broke.  And for a moment I knew agony and hatred like I had never known before. 

Tonight the hatred has subsided some.  But the agony remains.  Today was a day of temper tantrums and angry outbursts and "but where is Daddy going to buy coffee??" in the grocery store when I tell him we don't need to buy Bustelo anymore.  And I realized that all my love is not enough to make up for this devastation.  I don't have the tools to help them process this. 

So I swallowed my pride and my guilt and my shame and my fear and looked online for help.  And God pointed me to a woman I used to go to church with who is now a counselor, who had two children a little older than mine when she went through her own journey of divorce and betrayal. 

And I was thankful.  I again remember that God loves my little family so much more even than I do.  And He is never at a loss, never confused, never bewildered.  And He does not want that for me, either.  He says, "If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you." 

I have struggled with guilt for where we are.  I said yes, after all.  I worked hard to have my babies, whom I wanted so badly.  (Whom I love so dearly now as well!)  But God's forgiveness doesn't find fault.  And he will give me the wisdom I need.  

And I pray that as time goes on, he will enable me to direct that same forgiveness to others.  

He is faithful.  He will do it.