Handling a Death

I always wondered how I would approach death with my children. I was kind of thankful all of our parents are pretty young comparatively and we wouldn’t have to worry about it for awhile. I am not going too far into it, but I know a thing or two about having to explain it to a child before you should have to. Anyway that would make you think I was prepared. Then God went and gave me a special needs child. So talking about death is a bit of a double whammy, and I thought I had time. Ha!

I got a call from a friend in Pittsburgh that one of my daughter’s TSS (therapeutic service support) professionals had passed away. Frances hadn’t seen him in a year, but she does have a Pittsburgh photo album and she talks about everyone in it like it was yesterday. He was a great assistant to her. Because of the Pennsylvania wrap-around program, my daughter was able to participate in activities I never would have enrolled her in if she had been on her own. I felt the loss of this person who had played a roll in our life as we accepted the fact that our child had an autism spectrum disorder.

We decided not to mention it to her until it came up, and she hadn’t brought up the pictures in a while. What was I supposed to do when it finally did come up? Was I supposed to pull out Maria Shriver’s book? Sing Eric Clapton to her? Find something from her Children’s Bible? I didn’t know.

Sure enough, tonight she reminded me that I told her she could go to Pittsburgh with me in May. Then she started to rattle off her plan, “I’m going to see Rose, Katie, and Minjune, and Jordana, and Virginia. And who else Mommy? Who else?”

I tried to deflect it. I tried to distract her with Princess Tiana, and how we were going to a movie theater to see The Princess and the Frog in December, but she wasn’t having it.

“I’ll get to see Sarah and Ben!” What could I do? I couldn’t even pull a Judge Judy and walk away from this one.

“Well, you can see Sarah and have a sleepover party with your friends, but Ben won’t be able to come.”

“He doesn’t want to see me?”

“No, sweetheart, Ben loved “babysitting” you. (She called her assistants babysitters.)

“Is he sick?”

“No, he just… he’s taking care of Jeremy for you, and so it will be a while before you get to see him again.” Jeremy was our English Setter that died last year at age thirteen.

She smiled, “I’ll bet Jeremy loves Ben.”

I smiled and fought back a sob, “Yes, I’m sure that Jeremy loves Ben too.”


I am including this on my blog because I am sure that, my daughter’s disorder being what it is, she is going to ask me where Ben is several more times before we actually get back to Pittsburgh, and my story is going to stay the same. Ben is playing with our dog. We won’t see either of them again in this life, no matter what you believe of the next one. And the right thing to tell your child, be it that the Imagination Movers are wearing Yo Gabba Gabba costumes or someone you loved is playing with a pet you loved, is going to come to you when you need it. Maybe as she gets older and her disorder more controlled, I can go into it with her on a higher level, but for now, my child knows that two people she loved are together, even if she can’t see them.

Man some days are hard…