Helping A Child Understand and Process Grief — The Death of a Grandparent

On October 23, 2014, my mother-in-law passed away after a very short (two month) battle with a rare, very aggressive cancer.

Since we live nearby and are very close-knit family, she was actively involved in our four-and-a-half year old daughter Lily’s life. This was the first death our girl has ever had to deal with and the first we have ever had to help her understand.

Over the course of the illness, we knew we wanted to be sure we prepared Lily and kept her informed about what was going on. While some may say it would be been easier NOT to tell her about her grandmother’s sickness, we felt that it was in her best interest to be aware. About a month into her battle, we learned that the prognosis was grim, and we knew we didn’t want Lily to wonder what was going on, to have secret worry, and then be shocked at her passing. She is old enough to know something scary was happening, and we felt that honesty was our best approach.

Wanting to give her the explanations we felt she deserved presented a few more issues. Though she is a mature four year old, she is still only four. We had to determine what was enough information without providing too much but also didn’t want to dumb things down. First, feeling that it would feel more serious (and therefore scary) if we both came to her with the information, we decided that I would be the one to handle the explaining and to field any questions. We also felt that she would be more attentive and ask more questions if it were on a one-on-one basis. (We decided I should be the point of contact because I was a little more removed from the situation since it was not my mother. I was able to explain what was going on without breaking down, and my husband was not. We didn’t want to alarm Lily more than necessary by seeing her generally strong Daddy cry.)

I explained that Banoi (Vietnamese for grandmother) had surgery to remove a tumor, and gave a very basic explanation of a tumor. When she didn’t get better after the surgery, I explained that she was very sick, and that the doctors were trying to figure out what kinds of medicine to give her to help her. She was very gentle with her grandmother and was receptive to going to see her. As her condition worsened (quickly) and in-home hospice was called in, I walked through everything wither her as it was presented: she was in a wheelchair because her legs were too weak to hold her, she had a hospital bed because it was easier for everyone to help her in and out, she was on oxygen because it helped her take bigger breaths.

At that point, we felt it best to explain to Lily that Banoi was going to pass away and to try to help her understand that. She was not going to get well, and we wanted her to know that she was going to go to a place where she was no longer sick when she died. While she seemed to understand, after that conversation she began having nightmares. She also was very concerned about her Daddy and myself—would we get tumors? Would we die? In fact, one evening, she checked our entire bodies for tumors. I didn’t want to promise her that we’d never get cancer or never get sick. I did, however, want to reassure her. We told her facts: we are both very healthy and work very hard to stay healthy, we go to the doctor when we are sick and have very good doctors that take care of us quickly, and we are young and want nothing more than to live with her until we are very, very old. While she found our answers acceptable, I could tell she was still having some issues comprehending death and when/why it happens.

My husband and I decided to have a family day—just the three of us—to de-stress a little. We went to the movies to see “The Book of Life.” We went in expecting a fun cartoon and had no idea how much this movie would actually help our girl. The movie centers around Mexican death traditions, and the basic premise is this: if you die, as long as someone on Earth remembers you, your soul goes to the Land of the Remembered. There, it’s a big, huge, colorful party all the time, and you are reunited with ALL of your family and friends that pass away before you. As we were leaving, Lily said “Banoi will go to the Land of the Remembered soon, because we will NEVER forget her. And she won’t be sick, or sad, and ALL of her family that she tells us stories about will be there. I am happy she will go there.” After seeing that movie, the bad dreams and worry stopped.

The Tuesday after the movie, my mother-in-law’s condition worsened to the point that home-hospice was no longer helping, and she went into residential hospice. On Wednesday, Lily asked if we could go see her. I was hesitant because I didn’t want her grandmother’s condition to scare her. She begged to go, and (though my husband and I had agreed NOT to take her) I really felt that we should. We went, and honestly, she DID get scared. However, as we were leaving, she informed my parents that her grandmother was going to go to the Land of the Remembered and “she will not be sick like that NO MORE.” The next day, my mother-in-law passed away.

I picked Lily up that evening and  told her. I was preparing myself for a million questions, or tears—or both—but instead, Lily talked about what the Land of the Remembered. The first day of the visitation at the funeral home, she asked to go up to the front and see her grandmother. She quietly whispered, “We’ll always remember you!” She even spoke at the memorial service and shared beautifully how much she loved and missed her Banoi and that she was in the Land of the Remembered.

We have been through the visitation, a Buddhist ceremony, a memorial and burial, and all of the “What do we do with ourselves now?” time that comes after a death like this. Lily has mentioned in passing a few times that she misses her grandmother, but she is the first to offer sympathy when my husband, father-in-law, or sisters-in-law are having a hard day. She always reminds them that Banoi is happy now, with her mother, and we will see her again—because when we die, people will remember us, too.