Well, on February 18, it will be one year since Kevin's brother Steve Fierro, was killed fighting a fire. It was a horrid day, like none I can remember. Emotions are riding the line already, with the date quickly approaching. Then tonight, we had something happen.
The girls like to play waitress. They get a pad and paper, wear a visor, and ask what we'd like. Sometimes they bring us a drink or a cookie, and we tip them a quarter or something. It's a fun game. Tonight, Natalie went into my closet and shut the door. Her plan was to write some notes on her note pad.
In this closet is a box of memories of Steve. Newspaper stories of his death, pictures, his fireman's helmet, etc. When Monica opened the door to ask her a question, Natalie was in the floor, looking through the box, crying. Oh. Dear. God.
I asked Kevin if he wanted to take this one. He did. He went in, sat in the floor of the closet with her, and cried with her. They talked about uncle Steve. Talked about how he was a christian man who is now in heaven. Talked about how many souls he saved while on earth, talked about how many lives he saved while on earth. He was a firefighter for 2 towns, drove an ambulance for a hospital in one town, and METS in another. He worked wrecks, medical calls, fights, and all sorts of other mishaps. He was very good at what he did.
Oh. Dear. God. How hard this is right now. How much crying is it going to take? Sometimes we can talk about Steve, laughing and telling crazy tales of his adventures fighting forest fires in California, Colorado, Florida, and many other states. Other times, his name is spoken and we break down. How much time is enough time? I think we'll be crying about Steve for many years to come. I think that's ok. I *KNOW* that's ok.
Why can't I explain it to the kids better?
5 comments:
There are some things that can't be explained to kids or anybody else. Your kids are smart enough to know that. Eventually we learn that not every question is answered in this life. But it's OK to ask the questions anyway.
I cannot tell you how to explain it to them. I think our own grief makes it hard to do so. When does the crying stop? Never as far as I can tell. I think the tears are always there even if they are not released.
I think that what Kevin did... Going in and sitting with her and crying also... was the BEST thing... It gives HER permission to grieve. This kind of thing is hard for adults, let alone children. It sounds like you are handling it just right!
http://journals.aol.com/astaryth/AdventuresofanEclecticMind
The more I read about Kevin, the more impressed I am. Your kids are lucky to have two GREAT parents! Russ
Awwwwwww I'm so sorry. I feel your pain. One of the hardest days of my life was the day I had to tell my oldest daughter that her baby brother had passed away.
That was 5 years ago, and it's still so hard sometimes. Not only do I have my issues with losing my son, but my kids understandably have theirs too. At the time, my other daughter wasn't quite a year old and my other son hadn't been born yet, so I'm now having to face my 6-year old daughter's questions when she looks at my mother's ring and asks about Drew. In another few years, I'm sure the same thing will happen with my youngest son.
Kevin did the right thing by sitting with Natalie and crying with her, talking with her about it, and just remembering Uncle Steve. All you can do is be honest with the kids and let them melt down if they need to. And there's nothing wrong with you melting down too.
To answer your questions, how much time is enough time? You'll likely never "get over" it. For me, 5 years later and I don't know that it's any easier, but you just pick up the pieces and continue. And, yes, it's very OK to cry for many years to come. Forever, if you need to.
And you asked why you can't explain it to the kids better? Because it's so incredibly, painfully hard on YOU, and you don't want your kids to feel it too. It's so hard to explain death to children, because you don't want them to be afraid, and it's such an overwhelming thing that you naturally don't want your children to experience. It's good that you can celebrate Steve's life.
I'm sorry this is so long, but I do feel your pain with you. I'm sending prayers up for you and your family to get through this. And in the meantime, if you need a shoulder, I'll be here for you.
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