The afternoon after my Mother's funeral, I found the four grandchildren in the front room playing funeral. They had confiscated some flowers for the occasion and were going through rather elaborate ceremonies. The one who was playing dead was laid out on the organ bench for a ceremony, and then they were placed under the bench for burial. This went on all afternoon.
Our grandson lived only thirty-four hours. He was born on Christmas Eve and died Christmas day. After his funeral his two brothers came to stay at our house for a few days. They created a whole life for their brother. They had cutouts hanging all over the basement. He had become an astronaut and married a female sheriff.
Neither of these experiences was morbid or unhealthy in any way. Children work through their grief in play. Too often they are overlooked as we deal with our own pain. Children need a safe place to grieve. They need safe people to give warmth and hugs. They need a place to play out their feelings. They need ways of commemorating the memories. They need a place to work off their exasperation and anger. Most of all they need someone to listen.
A woman said she and her mother were in a car wreck when she was eight years of age. Her mother was killed and she was in a coma for several weeks. When she awoke the funeral was over and no one ever talked to her about her mother’s death. One day a classmate said, “Did your mother really die?” The woman said, “I said, ‘yes,’ and it felt wonderful. Saying that one word lifted, what seemed like a ton of weight, from my body.” An ear can lift burdens a tongue can’t even touch.
(In-Sighter Newsletter, Spring 1998)