Tag: children’s grief

Impatient knitter

copyright: GraphVision  via Shutterstock

Anything involving sewing, knitting or crocheting is beyond me; I just don’t have the patience for it. In fact, I have always struggled with patience and wanting to see the final result quickly, rather than enjoying the time in between the raw material, or the process, and the finished product or result. Sometimes the time between start and finish can be boring, sometimes elating, and sometimes, it can even be painful and oftentimes, really hard, but a skilled seamstress pushes through and sees the value in the finished product is well worth the hours of work put into it.

I have been slowly going through my late husband’s things for the past two years since he’s been gone. I have avoided his clothing all together, until I saw another widowed friend who told me she had a company make a quilt out of her husband’s shirts. I have been carefully going through his things, putting a lot of thought into the things I want to keep; not just to stay in a box, but to re-purpose them in some way that would be useful, beautiful and meaningful for his three children. The quilt was my answer to what to do with some of his clothing.

One day I finally gathered the courage to cut up my husband’s shirts to prepare them to be sent off for the final product; three quilts for our three little ones. The first cut was the hardest, and then it was therapeutic, going through each article of clothing and remembering all the moments held in those clothes. I held his shirts to my face and breathed them in deeply, trying to retain his scent, even if for only a moment. I was on a roll when one of my four-year-old twins came bounding down the steps and he stumbled across my project.

“What are you doing?” he cried, and he crumbled at my side, sobbing, clamoring for all of his daddy’s shirts and hugging them tightly.

I tried to explain to him that I was making something special for him, his brother and sister to keep for the rest of their lives.

“But these are already special,” he sobbed. “Glue them back together, or Daddy will have nothing to wear when he comes back!”

My heart broke for my little boy, wrapping himself in his daddy’s clothes, and I realized that seeing the brokenness of something that was once whole, the shirts, brought him to the final realization that Daddy really wasn’t coming back. The floor was a mess with scraps and pieces of items that were so much a part of the one person who couldn’t be there to wipe our son’s tears away.

I tried to explain to him that Daddy didn’t need these clothes anymore and we could remember him by special blankets that would keep us warm. That answer didn’t appease him and he bawled. I tried to say that God would clothe Daddy with much better shirts and he would look so handsome, so he didn’t need these, and I offered a solution that he could keep some of his father’s pants in a box to keep, untouched, and his brother, who had quietly listened in on our conversation, piped up in his thoughtful and clever manner: “People don’t wear pants in heaven?”

This grief journey has been hard enough for me to comprehend, and at that moment, I realized how much harder it was for a 4-year-old child to see this mess and not being able to see the final product. How could I explain something to them that I didn’t fully understand myself? It was a mess, this whole thing, and it was heartbreaking to look at, but the only thing that keeps me going is that I know God is continuing to knit all these unidentifiable pieces together. One day, we’ll see the beautiful finished product, but for now, I have to trust the messy, painful, unclear pieces are, somehow, in some way, valuable in their own rite to this whole journey. I don’t like it one bit and not being able to explain something to my hurting child is unbearable, but I know I can’t explain God, but I can describe Him to my children the best I can through all the ways He’s showed up and held our family.

Reading my Bible the other day, I kept thinking about the Biblical references to knitting and weaving, the most recognizable one being Psalm 139:13-14. Why did God choose that metaphor for knitting or weaving us together in our mother’s wombs? It’s significant to me to remember that God didn’t just wave a magic wand and-Poof!- here we are. Instead, raw, organic materials were taken and put together to form something even more beautiful (Genesis 2:7-8). All of life is a process, a delicate and intentional process that takes great care to develop to successful accomplishment. While I don’t understand, and, to be honest, am quite uncomfortable at times with the process, it brings me comfort and hope to know that the final product of these bits and pieces of God’s process will be wrapped around my children and I, to bring us warmth and comfort and finally, maybe finally, clarity and peace. For now, patience in watching each strand be woven together with the next brings me a little closer to the hope I cannot see, but know is there.

Children’s Grief Therapy Hack #1: Angry eggs- Part 2

Copyright: Nicole Hastings 2015

My twin boys were two when their daddy died and their grief was left unattended for awhile because I was so lost in my own. I didn’t have the slightest clue about how to tune into their grief or what to do about it. They were so young and it was hard for them to comprehend all that had happened and why their daddy was for so long lying in bed and then one day he wasn’t. The boys’ grief came out in droves of crying tantrums, night terrors, acting out and aggression. Just like adults, children can grieve in different ways unique to their own personality and individual experience with the person they lost. One of my boys was very inquisitive, sensitive and open about his feelings from the beginning. The other boy seemed to shut down, refusing to talk about his dad. Instead, his grief came out in physical aggression and acting out. Since they’ve gotten older, we continue to talk openly about anything they want to talk about regarding their dad, and I’ve recently noticed my son who tended to react to grief more physically, getting angry really easily. Any little thing would set him off.

A counselor suggested I let him bang on a piece of wood with a hammer. I tried that, but it quickly escalated into “what else can I hit with a hammer?” so I didn’t revisit that idea. I was wracking my brain to see how I could help him visualize his anger in a safe and productive way when I remembered the dishes I broke with a sledge hammer. If I had just swung a sledgehammer at nothing, I’m sure that it wouldn’t have had the same effect as my seeing the brokenness that laid before me. So I made him “Angry Eggs”: blown out egg shells with angry or sad faces drawn on them. If he’s feeling angry, instead of destructive behavior that might harm someone, himself or a part of the home, he can crush, stomp on, or smash the egg and see the result; tiny little broken pieces of eggshell. When he first did this, it was almost an instant calm and redirection for him. So now, if I sense he’s getting overwhelmed and angry for no apparent reason, I ask him: “Do you want to break an Angry Egg?”

 

 

How to make Angry Eggs:

Items needed:

1 or more raw eggs

1 large needle or safety pin (or I used a corncob holder!)

1 Sharpie marker

Step One: Take an egg out of the carton (preferably at breakfast or during baking if you need an egg anyway)

Step Two: On one end of the egg bore a small hole in the shell with the needle. You might have to make it small at first and gradually make it bigger; the size of a grain of rice should be big enough.

Step Three: Make a same sized hole on the other end of the egg.

Step Four: Clean off the egg if there are any eggy drips and blow into one of the holes on the egg. The yolk and whites should come out the other end, if it doesn’t, make the holes a little bit bigger. Voila—an intact, empty eggshell.

Step Five: Draw any kind of face you want on the egg. If your child is old enough to be gentle with the egg, he/she can draw her own feelings faces.

Step Six: Smash away or save in the carton for another time when emotions are running high. I always have plenty available to reach for at a moment’s notice.

 

*Disclosure: I am not a licensed therapist or counselor. I am merely sharing things that helped me and my family. Please refer to your or your child’s therapist to help identify grief patterns in his/her/your unique experience.