Surviving the Aftermath - Talking to Your Kids

The hours immediately following Chris's death are both clear as glass to me now, while also feeling like it was some kind of nightmare from which I would eventually awake.  The completely insane thoughts that go through your head and unimaginable.

My parents drove to our house, an hour away, but weren't able to make it before Chris was declared dead.  I was kept outside while a parade of total strangers (all kind, but still strangers) kept vigil inside my home.  Please - if you aren't someone who regularly goes to a family physician, please change that now.  Unknown to me, if you die unexpectedly at home, and aren't under the care of a physician, then your body is under the jurisdiction of the state medical examiner.  It was three long, laborious hours before my house was quiet again.

During this time, I was constantly worried that the kids would wake up.  Whether you are a religious person or not, nobody can tell me that the grace of a higher power wasn't keeping their hand on my children's bedroom doors that night.  I utterly cannot believe they never woke up during the time that our house was filled with paramedics and coroners.

That night, I never slept a second.  I was utterly sick with nerves, and worried and fretted about how to tell the kids.  Gabriel would be waking up on his birthday, so my choices were to either fake it for a bit, or ruin his life in one immediate fell swoop.  I'd like to say that I was being rationale in my decision to give Gabriel a few hours of happiness, but in truth, I was being a coward.

At one point during the night, I even Googled for advice on telling the kids.  All I could find was advice on losing a pet or a grandparent.  Apparently even Google wasn't prepared for the task that lay ahead for me.

I woke the kids once the sun rose, and lied my face off.  "Did you hear some noises last night?  Daddy got really sick.  He really feels bad, but wants you to go to school this morning.  I'll come get you before lunch."  This act of cowardice allowed me some time to get my shit together, while also giving Gabriel the chance to have his classroom party.  I took the kids to school, then asked to see the guidance counselor.  I explained what had happened and asked her to be on standby later in the morning.

After making all necessary family calls, I went back to school where the principal kindly gave me an empty office.  I didn't want to break this news at home, because I knew so many negative memories would be associated with that instant, and to be honest, "home" was already perfectly obliterated for me.

The kids came in, and as gently but directly as possible, I told them "kids, the worst thing has happened to our family.  Daddy did not make it.  I am so sorry babies, but I am here for you and we will be really strong as a family".

In the hours that followed, I have never seen two children more in love with each other.  They held each other for the entire ride home, and later for the ride to my parent's home, where we would start funeral arrangements.  Sophie, my oldest, cried a lot and vocalized her despair.  Gabriel was very quiet and dazed.  These were emotions that I would grow accustomed to.

Looking back, I'm trying to not see myself as a coward in talking to the kids.  There is no right way or wrong way to explain death and loss to your babies.  It is unthinkable to tell them that their hero is gone forever, when forever is a concept that is nearly impossible for ANY human to understand and make sense of.