It's Called a "Funeral"

I met Zeke and Michael, ages seven and five, not long before their mother Wendi lost her long battle with leukemia. A nurse in Wendi’s Intensive Care Unit had given her my name. Both Wendi and her husband John shared traditional views of family life and the importance of coming together at moments like death. So they wanted me to help their sons understand and prepare not only for Wendi’s death, but for the funeral to follow.

When John brought the boys to see me, we created a paper chain of love for Mommy in the hospital. Then I read the story I’d created for them to help prepare them for the funeral. It talked about what “dead” means, what happens to a person’s body at death, and what a “funeral” and a “cemetery” mean. We role played aspects of the funeral and the family gatherings afterward to explore what they would see and feel during this time.

After the funeral, the children were crying. Michael asked, “Without Mommy, who will take care of me?” I had a tissue in my hand to wipe his tears. I gestured to Wendi’s mother, there with us, and said, “Grandma taught Mommy how to be a mommy.” I passed the tissue to her and she wiped Michael’s nose. The boys got the basic reassurance they needed – that they would be taken care of.