Through The Eyes of a Child

My son is grieving.

I don’t talk a lot about Gavin’s journey. In part, because I don’t really understand it. He was 10 months and 4 days old the day his daddy died. I don’t think that the three year old boy he has grown in to remembers much about those first ten months. Or the man who loved him more than anything in this world. More, perhaps, than he loved me. I hate the fact that Gavin does not, will not, and really cannot know his dad.

But that does not mean he cannot grieve him.

As he is getting older, the comments and questions are coming more frequently. Mommy, where is Daddy? I love my Daddy. I miss my Daddy. I shutter every time they come from his mouth. Because I feel too emotional to deal with them. Too ill-equipped. I don’t have any answers. I don’t know what to say....

I watch him watching other daddies interact with their children. He and I both know that our lives are not the same.

I arrive late to pick him up, and he clings to me crying. “Mommy, I thought you weren’t coming.” “I’ll always come, Gavin.” “I thought you died like Daddy.”

It doesn’t matter who you are, words like that from such an innocent source will break your heart.

There are days that Gavin will come to me, give me a hug, and start to cry. “Why are you crying, Gavin?” “I’m sad.” “But why are you sad, lovebug.” “My daddy died. I miss him.”

I don’t know how much he actually knows. How much he understands. Or how much is parroted from things he has seen his mommy do and heard his mommy say. But I know these moments are often spontaneous. Out of the blue. And as a mommy who wants to protect her little boy from the harsh realities of what can be a cruel world, they hurt.

I cannot shield Gavin from the truth which is his life. He has known death far, far too soon. People – even daddies – die.

I wish that weren’t the truth. More than anything on this planet, I wish it weren’t his and my truth. I wish my little man had no reason to suffer.

I haven’t walked Gavin’s journey. I’m 35, and my daddy is still living. My first funeral was for my grandma when I was a teenager. The first thing I remember dying was a budgie named Teet. But I do know my role in Gavin’s journey. And its two-fold. First off, it is to stand beside him. To walk with him. To answer his questions. To reassure him that in the end things will be okay. And to do everything I can to fight my own demons, so Gavin does not lose me as well.

And second-off, its to be there, when he is ready, to talk. About the man that is – and always will be – his dad. About dying. But also about living. To impart stories. Share memories. And hopefully, in some little way, bring a part of his daddy back to life...

Today is Children’s Grief Awareness Day. Through the virtual young widowed community I have grown to trust, I have been introduced to so many children like Gavin. Children who have had to face death far before anyone should have to. Children that are out there asking the questions none of us have answers to. The biggest being Why...... Their needs are different. And often overlooked to the larger community. But these children are my idols. My heroes. Because whatever bad hand they have been dealt in life, they constantly rise above it. Often carrying their surviving parents on their backs, they learn to live with death, because that’s the only life they know.

I may have to teach my son lessons on death. We have many more conversations ahead. But at the same time, my son is teaching me lessons about life....