Mahatma Gandhi wrote that we should "Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever." That's not a bad thing to teach our children.
Yet there seems to be a division as to whether we must shield children from the harsh reality of death or expose them to it. I remember, many years ago before I was a parent, watching a my mother's friend's three year old grandchild at my grand father's elaborate Greek Orthodox funeral.
His grandmother was babysitting him that day, and so he came along – and there was a point where he stood at the open grave, hands behind his back, and peered down. It was with profound curiosity; it was a deep hole, after all. He was also interested in watching the black robed priest pouring oil over the coffin and sprinkling wheat as is the Orthodox ritual.
Being a Greek funeral, no one moved him away. But I know plenty of Anglo Saxon friends who have no such memories – indeed, the graveside was deemed "too traumatic" for them. His grandmother, however, was Irish, and not worried about him attending a "good funeral".
I too am a firm believer in letting children know about and embrace death in all its sadness. If a friend or relative has a miscarriage, we discuss it openly. I tell them the reason we celebrate birthdays, and go all out with flowers and gifts for new parents, is because life is precious and uncertain.
This was brought home recently with a friend who suffered a miscarriage and had the difficulty of her mother's grief; what about me? I lost a grandchild! This compounded her trauma. What made it worse were the indifferent remarks from co-workers who said "does this mean I have to pick up your work for the next few days?" Maybe as children they never attended a funeral and stood at a graveside to see a coffin lowered into the ground, or picked up a handful of dirt and stood to hear it hit the wood below. Or watch a flower from a wreath flutter and fall into the open wound below.
Last week, my children's grandfather died. It was after a very long illness, and a life well lived, so amongst the sadness there was plenty to celebrate in reflection. He touched a great many lives both personally and professionally. I wanted his grandsons to remember the day of the funeral and to participate.
Yes, they were terribly sad. I sat next to my 12 year old and held him tightly as he cried and cried, passing him tissues. My nine year old spent the funeral service asking his grandmother questions about the intricacies of the Catholic mass. She said later it was actually a good thing to have him there distracting her.
The boys handed out the booklets to the congregation, and they wheeled the coffin down the Church – and even helped carry it to the hearse. At the gravesite, they watched the coffin lowered in the ground – for funerals are goodbyes in painful stages – and then plucked a flower from the wreath and dropped it on the coffin. And they ate a Haigh's After Dinner Mint in memory as we stood under the gum trees in Warrandyte, all thinking about the man who opened his house to so many, loved to be a host, and always brought out the chocolate at the end of a wonderful meal.
Back at their grandmother's house, they sat in front of the fire with their cousins and elderly relatives, hearing everyone talk about the man they knew as Grandpa. So many stories to cherish, so many histories all interwoven around a pivotal person. How much better that they see all sides of grief. Of funerals, of saying goodbye. Of death.
I do believe we do our children a disservice if we hide them away from death. Not just of older relatives, but of babies and children as well. Speak to them about babies lost before they are born, if that is what is happening. It is a cliché, but death reminds us of how precious life is.
And children, as well as adults, should embrace this fact.
0 comments:
Post a Comment