As you get older, death and grief seem to knock on your door much more frequently. It might be someone of your parents’ generation, for whom age and a life well lived means they finally succumb to the natural order of the world. At other times death might reach the door of my own generation – those who had many more beautiful chapters of their lives ahead of them.
I often think that because I lost a parent so young, I’m never apprehensive about discussing death with others. The loss never really leaves you after the person who grew you for nine months passes away. You recover a bit in time, but you never really recover.
It’s for this reason that I talk so openly with my kids about death, loss, and serious illness. Not because I want them to have a morbid view of the world, or because I want them to have some weird obsession with death, but because having a healthy, open approach to the realities of loss and grief can be freeing in so many ways. Even for children.
I’ve taught them about my late mum and what she was like, and I’ve told them that I like to think she is a star in the sky who is always looking out for us. Shortly after midnight on New Year’s Eve, we were walking home and my daughter Florence, who is five, looked up at the sky and asked if the bright star she had spotted was my mum. I said that I hoped so. She then started a conversation about whether I missed her and about how that made me feel.
When we got home Florence took the picture of my mum off her wall and put it on my bed side table “just in case” I missed her again that night.
Their uncle, my cousin Ryan, died a few years ago and my two kids talk openly with his young daughter about him and how losing him makes her feel. When my aunt passed last year, Florence curled up on her son’s lap (my cousin Christopher) and just sat with him watching cartoons – somehow aware that he was consumed by grief and just needed to sit in silence.
Over Christmas she made what she called a “bye-bye box”. It was full of things she thought my mum may like. She then lay her picture of mum on top. I’ve taught both my kids that just because someone isn’t physically here anymore, it doesn’t mean they can’t be part of our lives, nor does it mean that we can’t talk about them.
I want them to understand that loss is something that we can’t control, and that anger isn’t the only emotion we can feel in that grief – that feeling joy when we remember that person is okay too. It was when Florence started questioning an old friend of mine this week about how losing her mum years ago makes her feel that I realised how beautiful having a healthy relationship with grief can be, once the overwhelming devastation has eased.
One of my oldest friends is very ill at the moment, and I’ve been sure to speak openly with the kids about how he’s doing and how hard things are for him and his family. We’ve previously talked about the various people in our circle who live with cancer too.
I have friends who won’t even talk about the benefits of life insurance policies because they are so afraid of death they feel even the mention of life insurance would somehow jinx their family in some way.
I also have friends who find it really difficult to talk to anyone who is going through the throes of grief because they themselves have such an uncomfortable relationship with it. This is why I talk so openly about loss with my children. Being afraid of death doesn’t make it go away; never talking about it doesn’t mean it will never darken your door; and living in hope your children will never lose anyone they know is completely impractical.
What we can control is their understanding of death. Allowing them to talk through what grief and loss are gives them some of the tools they will need to navigate the pain when death inevitably knocks on the door of someone they know.
Charlene White is a presenter for ITV News and Loose Women