|
Edited on Mon Oct-24-05 02:17 AM by murielm99
When my son was eight (he will be twenty-four next month), one of his classmates was killed in a nasty car accident.
But it was not just an eight-year-old boy who died in the accident. His sister, who was sixteen, had had her license for one month. She drove to school that day. She, her fourteen-year-old sister, and their little brother were all in the car. They lived on a gravel road in the country. When they came to a Y intersection, the sun may have been in her eyes. She drove into the intersection and under a milk truck. All three of the kids were killed, the whole family.
We live in a small town, too. Our population is just under 2500. The whole community was stunned. The family attended our church. Our pastor said that many people had told him that the deaths made them hug their own children and appreciate them more. That reaction was good, but hardly worth three young lives. The good he saw was the strength of the community in rallying around the parents and sharing their grief.
My son never forgot the morning his teacher was called out of the classroom to be informed of the deaths. He talked about that often, and about how his teacher told the class.
He and his older sister insisted on attending the wake. The three closed caskets with the school pictures on the tops, and the line of people around the block,was unbearable.
At the funeral, many people spoke about their memories of the children. My son's teacher read funny entries from the boy's classroom journal. Her hands shook. She told me later that when my son looked at their class picture for the first time, he singled out Joel's face, and a look of pain crossed his face.
I had to answer many questions about death for my children. My son wanted to know everything, even the condition of the children's bodies. He talked and talked about everything associated with their deaths. It seemed to be one way for him to work through his grief. He pointed out their graves to me every time we passed the cemetary.
I needed all the help I could get. I had no choice but to be honest about death. It might have been harder for me to have those conversations than to talk about sex with my children. Our pastor, a wonderful man, spoke to all our children's Sunday school classes.
It was still hard. One day, Tim came home from school with some chocolate candy. I asked him where he had gotten it. He told me that Joel's mother brought treats for the class, because it would have been Joel's ninth birthday. I sat and cried.
I talked to my kids about losing my first husband when I was 27. I told them things would get easier, although you never forgot or replaced a person. They had never asked about that before.
My son Tim loves numbers. Numbers comforted him at that time. He knew that 700 cars went to the cemetery. He knew how many people attended the visitation and funeral. He figured out how many days he had known Joel, and other numbers associated with the deaths. He even wrote about the deaths for his essay on his Illinois Math and Science Academy application. He talked about how numbers had helped him, but also about family and community grief and compassion. Maybe there is something your daughter or the other children in her class can think about for comfort, the way my son used numbers.
Many people did small things for the family, but they mattered. For example, my daughter's flute teacher had a memorial recital for the children. She spoke about the family, and played pieces for each of them. The middle school started a memorial award program in honor of the 14-year-old girl. The award is for citizenship, scholarship and character. It became a very prestigious award. My oldest daughter was one of the first winners. My son's class dedicated many things to Joel's memory. They sang a song for him at eighth grade and high school graduations. They dedicated their homecoming game to him.
As our pastor said, we cannot make sense of the senseless. We can look to God for strength, and help each other. The parents still live here. They know they are loved. They know we all cherish the memories of Jeanna, Natalie and Joel.
|
Printer-friendly format
Email this thread to a friend
Bookmark this thread
(1000+ posts)
Send PM |
Profile |
Ignore
