Tough News for a Toddler

Parents of toddlers are accustomed to answering lots of questions.

We do our best to explain things honestly. Why fall leaves turn different colors. Why it’s not nice to push someone at school. Why we can’t buy everything we want at the store.

But in matters of the heart, a child’s innocence, directness, and insightfulness can bring us to our knees.

I learned this when my dad, who’d suffered from Parkinson’s for 13 years, got sick and died within a week. My daughter Lucy, then just 3 years old, had seen him resting at home. Suddenly Grandpa was gone.

In matters of the heart, a child’s innocence, directness, and insightfulness can bring us to our knees.

Lucy had gotten used to seeing Grandpa’s “owies” — his bandaged fingers after he’d had a fall. Falls are common with late-stage Parkinson’s. Dad had to take his medication religiously to maintain what little mobility he had left and still, his knees would buckle. It was tough on him and even harder on my mom, his caregiver.

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About a week before he died, he was hospitalized for what the doctors thought was pneumonia. Although he’d returned home in good spirits, asking for pizza, he soon drifted in and out of an unresponsive state. It was clear to my mom, sisters, and me that the end was probably near.

Three days later, with all of his daughters and my mom by his side, my dad’s breathing changed. My mom recounted memories of when she and Dad were courting, and you could see the visible peace on his face. We cried, hugged, and said goodbye. He drifted away.

In disbelief that he was actually gone, my thoughts turned to Lucy.

A Toddler’s Response
The next few days were sad and poignant as I navigated unchartered territory. I decided to grieve both privately and in front of Lucy and my son, who was just 10 months old. At one point, I said, “Lucy, Grandpa’s gone to a better place.” Almost immediately, I regretted it.

“Is Grandma’s house not a happy place anymore?” she asked.

“Oh no, honey, it’s a happy place. But Grandpa’s not there anymore. He died and went to heaven.”

“Grandpa’s in heaven? He moved to a new house? He’ll come back?”

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The finality of it was completely lost on her. It was for me, too. I said the words, but it still felt like he would come around the corner in my parents’ house, and plop down into his comfy armchair.

“He’s not coming back,” I said, choking back tears.

Protect or Expose?
My usual desire to protect Lucy somehow didn’t make sense. I wanted to teach her to heal, though I wasn’t sure how.

Lucy’s questions from the backseat of our car would sometimes hit me so hard I’d almost have to pull over.

“Grandpa passed away? He’s not coming back and we’ll never see him again?”

Toddlers need honesty, I learned, permission to have real emotions, and lots of explanations to process the loss of a loved one. I hoped that by being present and truthful, I would teach her that real life can really hurt sometimes, but that loving people is also sweet and beautiful.

Toddlers need honesty and permission to have real emotions.

I chose to go alone to the burial service. It was the best decision I ever made. I handled one part of my life as the grieving little girl who missed her daddy, and then the next, as the mother of a little girl, who needed comforting and understanding.

Through this process I learned some important things about helping my toddler grieve:

Be honest about why you’re sad in language the kids can understand. “Mommy’s sad because she misses her daddy and we can’t see him anymore.”

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Grieve openly and honestly. Cry in front of your kids so they can understand it’s OK to be sad.

Explain what literally happens when someone dies. “Their body gets really old and tired and stops working. Their lungs and heart stop working.”

Show them what peace looks like. “Grandpa’s gone to heaven, and we’re sad because we miss him but we’re relieved his body isn’t suffering anymore.”

Let them know they can talk about the situation whenever they want and ask other grown-ups about it, too.

Give them ideas of how they can honor or remember Grandpa. Suggest paintings, looking at photos, or talking about their lost relative.

It’s been almost two years, and Lucy will still hit me with doozies sometimes. “I’m sad because I miss my Grandpa!”

I listen and console, and cry with her if the tears come. And then I talk about how he loved vanilla ice cream and cherry pie and pizza.