Did you know some kids pack their grief and bring it to summer camp?

Last month when I was at Mom 2.0, a small group of women (and one who did so after the fact) sat together at the CheeseburgHer party and had a deep conversation about faith, death, children and parenting.  Little did we realize that right at that moment, on the sofa, one of us had conceived... an idea.   What if we all shared a little bit about how our religious views intersect with how we explain death to children.  Each of us will be writing from our own perspective, but the purpose is not to present any one of those beliefs as being  "better" or "more real" or "absolutely true."  As my great grandfather used to say, "Just be nice to everyone, be a good person, act with integrity. We're not going to know whose right until we're dead anyway."

So I thought about how I could to do this without sounding, well, religious. Because we have readers who come to Parentopia from a variety of faith communities and I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable here, but at the same time, you all know Aviva and I are Jewish. So it's not exactly a far reach that we might occasionally mention something on our blog that is "Jewy" in nature.   Then I thought about my two years as a social worker at a overnight summer camp in the midwest.  And it hit me, I'm going to talk to you about how children may have grief reactions when they are happy at summer camp.

I realize that sounds contradictory, a kid is happy, yet grieving. But yes, it happens and here's how.  Maybe during the school year a grandparent died, or maybe it was a father, or a dog.   Sometimes during the course of the school year, with it being busy and filled  with schedules, kids may put their feelings on hold, or maybe they see their own parents so upset, they don't want to contribute more worry to the household, so they just keep their feelings hidden or tucked away.  Or maybe they want to cry, but have been told to be "brave" or told they should feel okay about grandma dying because "she was really old and lived a good life."  These are things we say to kids, things we as grownups think might help get them through a death they may not have been prepared for, or a death that was inevitable. Either way, as parents we want to protect them from pain and hurt, so it is totally understandable that part of it would be to try and get through the mourning and grieving as quickly as possible. There is a desire to "return to normal" even when normal isn't really going to be happening anytime soon.

Then comes summer. A time to be carefree, kids are spending more time on their own, less time with parents if they are heading to camp.   At a Jewish camp, like the one I worked at, some kids will be learning about The Mourners Kaddish for the first time. They may discuss elements of the religious service as their group of campers plan a Friday or Saturday Shabbat service.  I have seen children decide they will say kaddish for their cat, their dog, their grandmother. They want to do something to deal with their loss.  Sometimes it's not as obvious though. I've had campers who presented as being extremely homesick, but after a few more questions it came to pass they weren't homesick at all, they were grieving and didn't recognize their own grief and the unexpected feelings  of loss were scary and made them feel uncomfortable.  And thus, when kids feel uncomfortable, what do they want? To go home to be in a familiar surrounding with familiar people.  Makes perfect sense, but it also makes parents go nuts with worry as they get letters home from their camper saying "I hate camp!"

Every summer I would encounter a few kids who were blindsided by grief while away at camp.  It also took  parents by surprise because the funeral had long been over, the death had even occurred a couple of years ago or the person who died wasn't even a close relative.  And what I would explain is a child is learning about their own place in the world and going to camp gives them independence, but at the same time, it also magnifies for a kid that being on your own can be a little bit uncomfortable and scary at times.

So here is where the Jewy stuff comes into play. When I found a kid who was grieving, I would take them up to the canteen and buy them a candy bar. You see in Judaism traditionally you bring sweets to mourners. There are a couple of reasons; to remind the mourner sweetness still exists in life and to encourage the mourner to have sweet memories of the person for whom they mourn.   Handing a kid a candy bar opened the way for the child to then talk to me about their loss. Whether it was their family pet or their grandmother, I was able to explain the meaning behind why I was handing over a Hershey bar and offering to sit next to them until it was finished.  And every single time I did this, a child was able to talk to me about their loss and share the burden of their sadness with someone else.   What a relief and once we figured out it wasn't homesickness, the sad letters home stopped too.

It's not unique to Judaism to offer consolation in the form of food, other faith communities prepare meals of consolation, bring casseroles, bake cookies and brownies. So maybe this is one way you too can open up a conversation about death with a child, in your own way according to your own belief system- by offering something sweet and saying "Why don't you tell me something sweet you remember about grandma?"  Or "I know you might feel angry about grandpa dying, I just wanted to give you something sweet to remind you that you won't always feel angry and it helps to talk about it."

On Veteran's Day, We Remember.

It's Veteran's Day. A day when we memorialize those who have served our country and honor those who serve it now. This year marks the 20th my own husband has served our country. Our family has seen multiple deployments, months of separation. We've had two wars during these 20 years. Even with all of the chaos swirling around us, we still live life day to day doing all the things non-military families do.

We bridge both worlds in many ways. Nothing reminded me more of this dual citizenship than the time my father-in-law came for his first visit.

It was not long after our family arrived in the Washington DC area that my husband was promoted to a higher rank. My father in law came out to attend the promotion ceremony. The kids were excited to have Grandpa visit and show them our new house. Grandpa was excited to see the kids again.

On one of the days of their visit, we all went down to the Mall to see the various memorials. The weather was beautiful for October, it was warm and felt more like a mid-summer day than mid-fall. We made our way through the World War II Memorial.

My father in law was talkative, joking with the kids. Talking to them about the various flags flying and asking the kids name the many states we'd all lived in or visited. We made our way down the Mall, stopping to buy incredibly overpriced ice cream and sitting on a bench to watch people for a little bit.

We walked over to the Korean War Memorial. Close to this memorial was a kiosk where a person can go in and look up the name of a Veteran and get a printout of where they served, when they were killed or injured etc. My father-in- law went in and came out holding a sheet of paper. We walked over to the Korean War Memorial. My father-in-law paused in front of the granite wall and quietly cried as he clutched the paper in his hand. You see, his brother died in the Korean War. They both served, but only one of them came home. For my father-in-law who was unable to attend his brother's funeral, this was a memorial service. Standing before this wall, holding confirmation of his brother's death served as his farewell to his brother. It had been a long time coming.

No one in our family had been prepared for this reaction from my father-in-law. He was the happy go lucky sort. I'd never seen him cry, I think I'd seen him frown twice. But now tears were streaming down his cheeks as he faced the undeniable reality of his brother's death and as we bore witness we could see my father-in-law was letting go of the weight of the unexpressed grief he had shouldered for so many years. His brother, gone but not forgotten, and now remembered once more for the man he was and why he died.

Our children had many questions about Grandpa crying. Our older son asked if it would be okay for him to hug Grandpa. I told him, "Of course, go hug." And he hugged his Grandpa. It was an emotional sight; the two of them embracing in front of the imobile statues of infantry men with heavy packs upon their backs.

The rest of the afternoon Grandpa opened up about his memories of serving in the Army and his fallen brother. It appeared as if a door had been shut for my father-in-law and now it swung wide open and he was able to talk about his experiences when before he had merely brushed off any questions with "That was a long time ago. I can't remember." But something incredible happened on that day we visited the memorial. My father-in-law spoke of his Army memories.

As we walked around the rest of the Mall, my father-in-law told War Stories and they were fascinating , especially the one where he drove Elvis around Germany in a Jeep!

What I recall most about that day on the National Mall is how watching my father-in-law and my husband sharing their stories of service with our children brought forth my own realization of the bridge connecting the past to the future, built out of remembrance and hope.

So on this Veteran's Day, go hug a Veteran... Or the parent of a Veteran, a sibling of a Veteran, a child of a Veteran. And if hugging isn't your thing, a simple "Thank you!" or knowing smile works just great.