Helping His Big Sister Navigate Grief and Loss
This is a topic I’ve been wanting to share about for a long time, but I kept hesitating. Honestly, how can I share about helping Char grieve when we’re still in thick of it? Every parent fears and questions if they’re doing it “right.” Charleigh wasn’t born into a cookie cutter life and she’s the furthest things from a cookie cutter kid. I had her fairly young and single and have raised her with the help of my family and my now husband. She was born with a “special” heart and needed glasses by kindergarten (probably needed them sooner.) Most importantly she was gifted with an old and complicated soul. She has too big of a heart and thinks about everything deeply to the point that it can hinder her. At five years-old, we started seeing neuro-psych for movements she has done since she was a baby but have progressively worsened. Her whole body tenses up while her eyes open wide and her hands and feet move quickly. We also started discussing with them her anxieties and tendencies towards obsessive compulsiveness. She was extremely rigid in routine and would count the sheets of toilet paper she used. We made great progress in counseling and were able to start the road towards diagnosing her properly and creating a care plan. Despite her big emotions, she was still an independent, goofy, caring kid who constantly spread joy.
I did my best to comfort Charleigh as she mourned the loss of her little brother.
When we lost Calvin, the grief was hard on Charleigh. Her doctors warned us that her symptoms would likely be exacerbated and its all to be expected. What we didn’t expect was to lose the independent kid we had before. As much as we had our own naivety ripped away, its worse to have it taken at such a young age. Death to a child should be explained away by old age and sickness. No child should have to face the reality that death can come at any point by a freak accident. Wanting answers is something that is expected from adults grieving, but for some reason I wasn’t prepared for a child to want them just as bad. With both the miscarriage and losing Calvin, she wanted exact explanations and details about what caused them to go to Heaven. Her little mind was trying so hard to make sense of it all. We decided early on that we wanted the twins and Calvin not to be an awkward topic we avoided. We wanted it to be natural to openly talk about them and our feelings. Laying in bed one night, Charleigh was talking over what happened again when she suddenly asked me “Momma, why does God let freak accidents happen?” It felt like a punch to the gut. At first, I couldn’t mutter more than “That’s a really good question that a lot of people ask.” How was I supposed to answer the very question I wanted to scream to the heavens? I think that’s the hardest part of navigating grief with a child. I was still trying to explore my own grief and wrap my mind around everything, while simultaneously helping her do the same. It’s hard to admit that in the beginning I thought about how much easier it would be to just not have responsibilities and to be able to wallow in my own grief, but Charleigh was my main motivator to keep going. She was the motivation to get out of bed, the motivation to seek my own counseling, and the motivation to live life. I needed to keep going for her. I needed to be strong for her. I needed to better myself for her.
Charleigh so sweetly held Calvin and kissed him. She was an amazing big sister from the start.
In addition to her own grief, I know it was hard on her to watch those around her grieving as well. The people who were her rocks in the world, suddenly had cracks. It hurt my heart that on my bad days, when I couldn’t hold back my pain, she openly tried to take care of me. I remember having to pack up our house to move just before Halloween. It was an exceptionally hard day as multiple milestones were hit. We were moving from the house where Calvin grew in my belly and we had his stuff set up. Halloween was coming and I had seen a bunch of baby costumes he should have been wearing. It also happened to be exactly six months since his birth. The culmination of it all brought me to tears. I had fought it all morning even with everyone noticing I was “off.” When the tears started to flow, a little hand laid on my shoulder and invited me to come play with her. She brought me over and distracted me with setting up a trail of gems for her stuffed animal to follow. She casually brought up the fact that she misses Calvin too and gets sad too before giving me a hug and moving on with the game. At the very end she hugged me again and asked if I was feeling better. My six year old handled my grief with more tact and care than most adults are capable of. She somehow acknowledged how I felt, empathized with how she feels the same way, and helped steer me away from focusing on it. I was so proud but also devastated that she felt the need to care for me. Even when I felt like I was hiding it away, she knew. I laid in bed looking at my new pregnancy group post their ultrasound pictures. A small moment of grief came over me as I was hit with a sense déjà vu. I didn’t say a word, my eyes didn’t tear up, nothing changed. She looked up and asked “Are you thinking about Calvin and its making you sad?” I was bewildered by her. I simply hugged her and let her know that yes, I was a little sad but that I was okay.
Her anxieties were coming out in so many ways. The kid we used to watch on the baby monitor play in her room and put herself to sleep every single night suddenly couldn’t be alone for even a minute. If I tried to leave the room without her, she would burst into tears in a panic. She was having nightmares and had to have every light on. It became so difficult to get her to sleep in her own room that we blew up an air mattress for her beside our bed. Her obsessive compulsive tendencies spiked and emotions ran high. She started running to the bathroom every five minutes to pee, because she had it in her head that every time she took a sip of water she needed to immediately pee. At one point she was telling me she wished what happened to Calvin had happened to her, and tried saying I love her because she’s my kid but I’d love any kid I had. My then six year old was depressed and what made it worse was the complete lack of resources to help her. Therapists had six month wait lists if they were even taking people. Her therapists she did have kept leaving. Insurance has fought us on getting her occupational therapy over a silly billing code. It felt like we were drowning and the life boat kept drifting further away.
From the moment we brought Hobbes home, he bonded to Charleigh. They were immediately best friends.
We have used every tactic we’ve learned in her past therapy sessions, as well as many we learned on our own. We actively worked to normalize what happened and normalize talking about our feelings. We modeled the behavior we wanted from her and were honest when we had bad days too. We used timers and slowly pushed her out of her comfort zone smothering her in praise every step of the way. Don’t get me wrong, we were far from perfect. I had my days I cried in frustration and had no idea where to go from there. I had my own big emotions and made mistakes. Slowly, ever so slowly, we’ve gotten our Charleigh back. It started with us walking out of the room and setting a five minute timer. When she could do that we would praise her and cheer her on. When she got comfortable with that, we’d extend it. Then we started setting a timer for in between bathroom uses, making her wait only five minutes at first. As she built up her confidence, her competitiveness took over. She was so proud when she accomplished something new! She’d run up and say “Momma! Did you notice? You went and got a drink and I stayed in the room all by myself! You didn’t even have to set the timer!” She was also very honest when we would give her a new challenge. She would tell us if she was excited to try it or if she felt she wasn’t ready for it.
The biggest positive impact on her mental health was our puppy, Hobbes. It was only a couple weeks, if even that long, since Calvin passed. I can’t explain it other than I knew this child needed a “win.” I know growing up, my dogs brought me endless comfort and with a heart as big as hers, a pup would do the same in her life. We started searching for golden retriever puppies. Of course, most were weeks away from being able to go home but that was too long. She needed hope and she needed it now. We came across a litter with just one puppy left who was ready to go home that day. Jack took Charleigh to our house while my parents, our friend Karen, and myself drove two and a half hours to get him. I had to take my postpartum products with me because I was still healing from birth, that’s how soon we got him. In a garage full of puppies, Hobbes came and sat right on my feet. I sat and rubbed his chest while the rest of the puppies played. We knew he was destined for us. He slept good as gold the entire drive as if he knew he was going home. When we got back, Charleigh fell in love and so did he. From the very first night, he followed her everywhere she went. He’d insist on being lifted onto the couch to sleep next to her. He still follows her everywhere she goes and listens to everything she tells him to do. Even though he is probably 85 pounds now, he will squeeze his butt into too tiny spaces to be next to her. He goes to her when she cries and sleeps by her side at night. He brings her confidence and comfort.
“Through heart ache and pain, she was surrounded by positive influences on how to love and care for each other. She received a shining example of the village around us, raising us up.”
Just the past couple weeks, after nearly nine months, she is finally putting herself to sleep again. It was by far the hardest battle. She had become so accustomed to having someone snuggle with her until she fell asleep, even if it took two hours. She was getting up in the night and needing put back to sleep until we ended up just sleeping in there for our sanity. It no longer seemed like she needed us out of fear, but more that she had it stuck in her head that she needed us. We had to set clear boundaries and give her ways to be independent in her room. My very pregnant self would sit in the hall where she could see me for over an hour talking to her, reminding her she could do it, until exhaustion took over. We bought her a device called Yoto (thanks to my brother and sister-in-law) that allowed her to switch between audiobooks, music, and white noise on her own. Then, one night we were telling her stories about how much fun she had in her room. From a young age, she would kick me out of the room because she wanted to do her own thing. It was as if a switch suddenly flipped. She stayed in her room on her own while I took a shower and straightened my bedroom. She had a blast looking at books and playing with her stuffed animals in bed. I didn’t even care how late it got because she was so happy. I had tears in my eyes listening in on her. Then, I simply walked in and said she really needed some sleep, tucked her in, rubbed her back for just a minute and left her room while she went to sleep on her own. I won’t say we are out of the woods yet, but we are seeing improvements everyday. She is doing better with school and she has had less meltdowns. We can finally see proof of the healing happening inside her.
Lastly, one of the beautiful things she was able to experience in this, is how loved she is. She witnessed countless people rally around us. We were brought meals, some sent her gifts to help brighten her day, her teacher would have one on one time with her just to support her, and others offered to take her out for the day. Through heart ache and pain, she was surrounded by positive influences on how to love and care for each other. She received a shining example of the village around us, raising us up.