This past Thursday, after coming home from softball, I was greeted at the door by my wife's aunt, a strange man (strange as in not familiar to me), and my sobbing wife. I knew immediately something was horribly wrong.
My wife's father had passed away, at only 59 years old. While I never got to know him under the surface, I have plenty of grief from knowing what my wife, her mom, her brother and sister, her aunts, and her grandparents.
No one should ever have to bury a child. I can't imagine the magnitude of such grief.
It will also be difficult talking to our two boys, who loved running downstairs to jump on his lap and watch TV or play video games with their "Bepa." He loved them right back more than they'll ever get to know.
They've both already asked about where he is. The two-year-old may eventually lose any recollection of him, which is part sad, and part good I guess. The three-and-a-half year-old will likely remember him, and will be confused I'm sure.
I'm going to do some surfing on the Net for advice on how to communicate to young children about such a loss. Do you even do it for kids that young?
My God, they're talking about him right now as they finish their breakfast. The two year-old is calling for him as I type.
Rest in peace, Bepa.
Key to the City: London
1 month ago
No comments:
Post a Comment