It’s been an emotional week at my house. My grandfather
passed away after a 60+ day hospital stay, pnemonia, and the flu. It was an
exhausting struggle for my Step-mom and her sisters as they took turns staying
with him at the hospital all those hours.
My Grandfather was a giant, but he was kind. He was funny
and always loved to be around people. We were his step-grandchildren, but as
soon as we joined the family you wouldn’t have know he just met us. He welcomed
my sisters and me into his already large family and took his place as Grandpa.
When it came time to make the funeral arrangements I was
hesitant about bringing my sons; it was going to be a full Catholic mass in a
church. My children have never been to church. They aren’t used to sitting
still for more than 24 minutes (if they’d even sit still the entire episode of
Octonauts) and they are hardly quiet for any length of time. They even talk in
their sleep! And the thought of taking them to the wake was even more scary or
painful, or so I thought. Seeing a very large man, whom they kind of knew in a
casket could be the worst decision I could make for a while.
I thought about it for a few days, and then decided that
they were coming with me. I didn’t want to stay home just because my kids
haven’t experienced death yet. I wanted to be there for my Step-mom, my aunts
and uncles, my cousins, my sisters and for myself. I wanted to honor my
grandpa.
When my Dad’s mother (My Munga) passed away while I was in
college, I was fortunate enough to make it home in time to say goodbye. She
waited until everyone had a chance to return to Michigan, say their last “I
love you” and she passed away at my Uncle’s home. We were all there. It was
nice to just sit and wait and talk about all of the memories we had of her. It
was comforting to cry and have others to lean on and to have time to be in pain
and time to heal. I needed that with my Grandpa too.
The day of the viewing I got my boys all dressed up, took
pictures of them because, boy, were they handsome, and told them that we were
going to a funeral for Grandpa. I let them know that everyone will be sad and
some people will probably cry. I told them that Pal and Gam (my dad and
step-mom) would be crying and so would I. They had very concerned looks on their
faces, but I reminded them that it was okay to cry and it’s okay to be sad (we talk about feelings a lot. It really has eliminated a lot of tantrums and fights in our house).
I left it at that until we were about to walk into the
funeral home. As the family started to flow in, people hugged, the
boys were overwhelmed and I wasn’t sure what to expect next. When we were
escorted into the room to view my Grandpa, we stayed towards the back. The room
was quiet except for sniffles and soft comforting whispers. The boys were
nervous. I held Henrik and my sister held Theodor. We held them tight as people
returned from the casket with tears in their eyes. The boys didn’t know what
was going on but started to get uncomfortable when they saw Pal and Gam crying.
Henrik asked why they were sad and again, I let him know that Grandpa passed
away and we missed him. Henrik was comforted by hugs from his grandparents as
my sister and I went to see my Grandpa. We came back with tears in our eyes and
on our face and Henrik came up to both of us and gave us a giant but sweet and
tender hug. “It’s okay Momma” he said. Theo grabbed onto my neck and gave me a
slobbery open mouth kiss.
I set up a corner in the back of the room for the boys to
play and sit with their older cousins but as the people trickled in and the
boys got more comfortable, they wandered up to the casket. Theodor did it
first. He marched right up to the casket, climbed up on the pew, stood on his
tip-toes and looked at my Grandpa. I slowly followed him up there. I said nothing.
I waited for him. He pointed and asked who that was. I told him it was Grandpa.
He just looked for a minute and got back down.
Then Hank came over. He said he
wanted to look too. “Sure” I told him. I said nothing and waited for him to take
the lead. “What’s he doing?” he asked.
I didn’t want to be too graphic or scary, so I decided vague
but truthful was the best route, so in a calm and comforting, but grown up tone,
I addressed death with my two year old, “He’s just laying there.”
“Why?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to use the word dead to a two year
old: “Because, he’s not alive any more.”
“Why?”
I didn’t want to say he was sick because that could lead to
a host of other issues since my boys had just gotten well and commonly use the
phrase ‘We’re sick’.
“He got very old.”
“Why’s he wearing a watch?”
“Because he always wears a watch. You always play with cars
and he always wore a watch.”
“Is this his bed?”
Seriously? A BED!? I have a hard enough time getting my son
to sleep in his own bed! How am I going to dodge this one but still be
informative? “No. It’s called a casket. It’s a special place for him to lay.”
“Is he sleeping?”
“No honey, he’s not alive. His body is just laying here.”
“But, why does he have a pillow if he’s not sleeping?”
Good question. Damn. “Well, I like having a pillow when I
lay down. I think he likes having a pillow too.”
Henrik leaned in towards my grandpa and whispered something
I didn’t quite hear, looked at me and walked away.
I have to admit, there was a huge sigh of relief when he
left. I was proud of my answers and felt I did it right, but wow was that
stressful. Then I remembered that he whispered something. What did he whisper?
Did he know something about the after life I didn’t? Did he have kind words for
my grandpa?
Before I could get up from the pew, Theodor waddled back over to
the casket, climbed right back up on the pew and stuck his face over the edge
of the casket. He smiled at me with big bright eyes and said something very
softly, looked at me again, flashed a smile, climbed back down and ran through
the parlor. The boys never came back to the casket.
Why did both of my boys whisper something to my grandfather?
What is the truth about death? There was something so special and so comforting
in knowing that they whispered and perhaps said their final respects or
delivered some kind of message to him.
On the way home that night Henrik was awake the whole time.
I gave him a lot of praise for his good behavior and thanked him for coming
with me. He asked a few more questions about the day and was a bit more chatty
than before as if he had a lot of time to prep the questions,
“Why is he not alive?”
“Well, he was really old. Way older than you and way older
than me.”
“But why is he not alive anymore?”
“Sometimes our bodies can stay strong any more.”
“Was he sick?”
“Actually, yes. He got sick and couldn’t get better.”
“Why?”
“Because he was very old and fragile.”
“Why’d he not have medicine?”
“Well, they gave him medicine, but it couldn’t make him
better.”
He’d asked the question I didn’t want to answer, I didn’t
want to use sickness and medicine to talk to Henrik but I guess it was time. My
fear was that he’d hear that his brother was taking medicine for his incoming
teeth and Henrik would freak out. Or that he’d hear that his Mimi was sick from
her cancer and think she’d end up in a box bed. I honestly wasn’t sure where
this was going to go so I stopped talking and tried to stop over thinking it.
Let him lead. LET HIM LEAD I kept saying to myself.
“I have boy medicine.”
“Yes, you and Theo get boy medicine when you are sick. But
it’s not the same kind as Grandpa. He was an old man and had different kinds of
medicines.”
“I don’t want man medicine.”
Uhhh, did he make the connection between grandpa being a
man, and he got man medicine that didn’t make him better and then died? I guess
I’ll never know. I was thrilled when he started talking about the stars and how
they were like the lights in the midnight zone of the ocean from all of the
glowing fish. But then if he could make that connection, could he do the other?
You see, my husband and I aren’t religious. We’ve vowed that
if our children asked about churches or religion we’d take them to as many
different churches to experience all the religions that they want to know about.
We swear we will teach them about how it’s okay to have different thoughts than
other people. But death is one of those things that is easily comforted by
religion.
My husband doesn’t believe that there’s an afterlife. And
I’m more on the spiritual side of things, and I really like the idea of a place
in the afterlife where we can all gather together and be with our loved ones.
I’m not sure it exists. I don’t want to say, “He’s with God now” because I
don’t belive in a GOD. I believe in a force, I believe in fate and I don’t know
how to explain that to my almost three-year-old son. Plus, I want them to make
their own decisions about what happens after death by themselves. I want them
to decide if there is one God, or many gods or no gods.
Death is a tricky subject anyway and I’ll be the first one
to admit that I’m possibly over thinking all of this. But I’ve learned a few things from
my grandpa’s funeral:
1.
My sons are the sweetest children. I will never
forget the bear hugs and neck hugs, soft face strokes and sweet kisses from my
sons over the whole experience. My children are empathetic and so in tune with
those around them. They may not understand death in its entirety, but they
understand how to be there for someone else. That’s such a valuable lesson.
2.
Whatever happens in the afterlife, we all take
comfort in offering final words, saying a prayer or even giving a kiss to a
casket and I’ll never forget and choose to think that my sons had the
opportunity to say something to their great-grandfather.
3.
Don’t be afraid to answer questions. How are my
children supposed to be comfortable with something that is so obviously uncomfortable
to many if I can’t be honest and give them answers that are appropriate? I want my sons to ask the tough questions, it absolutely makes it harder for me and my husband. But I have sons that are curious and want to know more. I want to encourage their imagination and want them to fight to find the truths.
I wish my grandpa could have known them better. He knew them a little bit, but I know he would have LOVED playing with his great-grandsons and watching them grow up. They would have found one another funny and I know they would have argued over who the best baseball team was. They would have made a great threesome, but at least they got to meet him. That's all I can ask for.
