The Diary of A Widow

    Grief with kids is a different level of hard. Watching them sit up out of a dead sleep and say “where’s dad” then fall right back to sleep. I can’t explain the hurt I felt in my heart and soul when my son said that in his sleep. Because what was that poor baby dreaming. How much did his heart ache. 

   Or being asked, “mama, why did daddy die so young?” Every single day. The same rehearsed answer every single time. Or, “every year on my birthday I will wish for him back”. It’s hard to hear those things and answer those questions when you yourself are in emotional torment over it. 

   The one that’s hurt the most so far is my daughter thinking it’s my fault. She thinks it’s my fault for not making him go to the hospital sooner. Maybe she’s right. I should have pushed for him to go sooner. She is young, she doesn’t mean for her words to hurt me. She needs someone to blame. Until she’s old enough to know the truth, I will carry that blame. I will carry any ounce of pain if it means they don’t have to feel it. 

    My oldest is angry, shut down. He doesn’t want to talk about his dad and gets mad if his sister and I discuss Colby in front of him. Little things get big reactions, big emotions. I can’t be mad at him though. He has every right to be angry. I can’t imagine what it’s like for a 10 year old to lose his dad, his hero. In the blink of an eye, no warning. 

   I guess my only recommendation is grief counseling and therapy. It’s the only thing I’ve done that has seemed to actually help. My son doesn’t want to open up to me, he’s afraid he’ll hurt my feelings. I think sometimes it’s easier for us to open up about hard things with someone we don’t know. 

    Grief with kids isn’t for the faint of heart.