“So, is Ann Marie in heaven now?” my six-year-old asked me as he saw me sobbing uncontrollably. I didn’t expect him to be with me when I got the news that my aunt had passed away. I certainly didn’t want to have such a strong reaction in front of him. But that was life, right?
Things can happen that are out of our control and not how we imagine them to take place. I didn’t think that my aunt, who was only 52 years old and full of life, would be taken so suddenly and unexpectedly.
“Yes, she’s in heaven now. She’s not sick or hurting anymore, and she’s happy again.” After that answer, he seemed satisfied at that moment, but as the days passed, he had more and more questions.
“Where is heaven?”
“Are you invisible when you die?”
“Where does your body go?”
“Why don’t people fall out of heaven through the clouds?”
As a Catholic, and admittedly not the most devout, I tried to explain death to him as I was taught. I tried to answer all his questions in a way that would make him feel calm and at ease and, most importantly, not afraid.
I also thought explaining to him that not everyone believes the same things and that people come from all religions and backgrounds was crucial. I stressed that it is important to respect everyone’s beliefs, even if they differ from our own.
I told him that, for example, some people believe in reincarnation, where after you die, you come back as a new person or maybe even an animal. He liked this idea and said he wanted to return as a hamster to run on a wheel all day. This kid could always make me giggle, even amid my sadness.
As our conversations continued over the next few weeks, I always tried to answer him honestly and never pushed my beliefs (or half-beliefs on him). I even told him that being sad is okay. Crying over missing someone is a way to show your love and how much you care about them.
Always firmly believing in being super open with my children, I stressed the importance of letting your feelings be known, even when you’re sad or angry.
I don’t have all the answers, and I didn’t read all the books about grieving, but I followed my heart and spoke to my kids freely, honestly, and openly. Making sure that my children knew to focus on the present and to try and always enjoy life’s moments, and not to worry about what may or may not happen was big for me, especially since I had always been a worrier and suffered from intrusive thoughts since I was his age.
Two weeks after my aunt’s passing, I went upstairs to check on my son, who was supposed to be cleaning his room. He showed me a shiny blue heart, almost like a polished rock, in his drawer by his bed. “Mom, see this heart? I use this to talk to Ammie. I know you miss her, and I do, too.” My eyes welled up, and he asked if I would cry. “Yeah, Bud, I might cry, but that’s okay. I miss her.” I also let him know how proud I was of him for asking questions and trying to learn about such a big and sometimes overwhelming topic.
The best advice I could give when dealing with death and the grief that comes along with it is always to be yourself.
As a mother, you know your children and what they can handle regarding honesty and real-life truths. Remember, sometimes they can surprise you and teach you how to deal with some of the hardest things life throws at you. They can be resilient and strong.
I encourage my children to write down memories of my aunt and to talk to her at night when it’s quiet. I also told them that when they see a red cardinal sitting on our white fence, she’s here visiting and checking on us.
A few weeks ago, I was sitting by the pool in Florida. I heard a mother call out to her daughter in the pool, “Ann Marie!” I looked to see a young girl splashing in the pool, smiling and laughing. I couldn’t believe it. It was my sign that she was happy and full of joy, whether in heaven or back on this Earth. I smiled through tears. I love you, Am, and I’ll smile through my tears whenever I think of you.
Dedicated to Ann Marie Fiorello Feldman: mother, aunt, sister, daughter, and lover of life.
