I was deep in thought at my office, preparing a lesson to be given that evening at a community center across town, when the telephone rang. A woman I had never met introduced herself and said that she was the mother of a seven-year-old and that she was dying. She said that her counselor had advised her that discussing her pending death with her son would be too traumatic for him, but somehow that didn’t feel right to her.

Knowing that I worked with grieving children, she asked my advice. I told her that our heart is often smarter than our brain and that I thought she knew what would be best for her son. I also invited her to attend the lesson that night since I was speaking about how children cope with death. She said she would be there.

In today’s society, death is a frightening topic to be avoided at all costs. It is banished from the psyches and the home, and placed firmly out of sight into hospital rooms, hospices, and funeral homes. The Angel of Death is an unwelcome visitor whose presence many try so hard to ignore. Many therapists and counselors sadly leave death and the topics surrounding it shrouded in dark, fearful mystery.

I wondered later if I would recognize the woman at the lesson, but my question was answered when I saw a weak woman being half carried into the room by two adults. I talked about the fact that children usually sense the truth long before they are told and that they often wait until they feel adults are ready to talk about it before sharing their concerns and questions. I said that children usually can manage truth better than denial, even though the denial is intended to protect them from pain. I said that respecting children meant including them in the family sadness through grieving and mourning, not shutting them out.

The woman had heard enough. At the break, she hobbled to the front of the room and through her tears she said, “l knew it in my heart. I just knew I should tell him.” She said that she would tell him that night.

The next morning, I received another phone call from her.

She could hardly talk but I managed to hear the story through her choked voice. She woke her son up when they got home from the lesson and quietly said, “David, I have something to tell you.” He quickly interrupted her saying, “Oh, Mommy, is it now that you are going to tell me that you are dying?” She held him close, and they both cried while she said, “Yes.”

After a few minutes, the little boy wanted to get down. He said that he had something for her that he had been saving. In the back of one of his drawers was an old pencil box. Inside the box was a letter written in simple scrawl. It said, “Good-bye, Mommy. I will always love you.

How long he had been waiting to hear the truth, I don’t know. I do know that two days later Mom died. In her casket was placed the old pencil box and a letter.

May your memories be a blessing that lead you to  shalom (Peace)

 For more grief and mourning resources for adults and children including prayers and meditations, Stories to Console, and activities for children

Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation. (Joel 1:3)

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