Here's an excerpt from an article I wrote about kids and grieving that was recently published on Babble.com:
When I tell our 7-year-old daughter Ella that her great-grandmother has died, her mouth drops its smile and settles into a straight line. We are sitting on the floor cross-legged, our knees touching.“How did she die?” she asks.
“While she was sleeping,” I say.
“But how?” she asks again and I explain that when we get older, sometimes our bodies stop working, our hearts just stop beating.
“Oh, so she was really, really old then?” she asks.
When I tell our 7-year-old daughter Ella that her great-grandmother has died, her mouth drops its smile and settles into a straight line. We are sitting on the floor cross-legged, our knees touching.
“Yes, honey. Grandma Judy was 94,” I say. “We’ll miss her. She was a wonderful person, full of grace.”
I can tell Ella’s not sure what it means to be full of grace. She searches my face for some sort of clue, but all I can come up with are tears that I quickly wipe away.
“It’s sad isn’t it?” she says, then sighs and lays her head in my lap. After a few minutes she stands up, wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a hug.
“I’m going to play now, okay?” she says, pulling away from me and heading down the hall. She doesn’t seem too sad, and I wonder if she really understands that Judy is gone.
