My First Encounter With Death and How My Mom Explained It To Me

My mother and I approach the house in silence. Her sharp movements, the way she opens the door loudly ringing her keys, her strained back - this all promises an unpleasant conversation.

Introduction

Friends help us understand ourselves. And your child's sympathies supposed to help you understand your child. We are fragments of the people that surround us. When putting the personality jigsaw together, you see small pieces of your friends, parents, siblings, and close acquaintances in yourself.

Close childhood friends link the past with the present for us. Many of the joys and sorrows of childhood lose their sweetness when one of your friends dies.

I take off my shoes leisurely. My mother sits down on the armchair and says, staring at me, "Well, now explain to me, please, how should I understand this?" I do not look at my mother, and gazing intently at my fingernails, begin to defend myself, "Ivan and I just…" My mother interrupts me and bursts into a tirade as if she has been expecting this name, like athletes wait for the 'go' command, "Ivan, Ivan. Again, this Ivan. May be enough? When I hear this name, I get goosebumps. I begin to think, what did he do this time? How many times have I told you not to go after him? Someday he will get you into big trouble."

"Mom, please, we just wanted to release pigeons from the school attic. They asked for help." My mother's voice falters, "And what if you'd fallen down? I know for sure, it was Ivan's idea to climb to this damned roof. The teacher constantly complains to his mother that he always has some unusual fantasies."

"No, Ivan is good. He always helps if someone is in need."

"No way. The teacher assures me that there are no pigeons in the school attic. So I'm sure - this is another one of his fantasies."

"No, there ARE!"

"Look, Olya! That's enough! From now on, I forbid you to talk to Ivan."

The next day, I begin a conversation with Ivan, without paying attention to the call, "Yesterday my mother was furious because of the pigeons. She forbade me to talk to you." My red-haired friend with a porcelain-white face and a scattering of freckles on his nose says quietly, "My mother was angry too. They don't understand. I just wanted to help."

"I know…"

A man comes into the classroom and leaves after saying a few words to a teacher in a low voice. The teacher nods her head in agreement and declares, "Children! A doctor has come to our school. I ask you to get up and go together to the nurse's office for an examination. These are regular checks so you won't get sick and you'll go to school every day." Ivan says thoughtfully, "I don't want to be checked. I'm all right. Maybe we'll see if there are pigeons on the roof?" I respond deprecatingly, "No, Ivan, if my mother finds out she will kill me! We'll do what others do."

The doctor in a white coat kindly examines everyone. The nurse takes blood behind the screen. I undergo the procedure, then Ivan.

It is already dark when I return home. My mother breaks away from some TV show, hearing my steps, and asks strictly, "Why were you gone for such a long time?"

"Ivan and I went to Kostya. The homeless man. I gave him my lunch, and Ivan gave him some change."

"The homeless man? Kostya? Have you invented names for your fantasies, too? Maybe that's enough? You and Ivan have been inventing different heroes and have been playing with them since childhood. It's time to grow up." The woman stops and almost begs, "Come here!"

I and my mom embrace, she kisses me and pulls me tightly to her chest, saying, "Do you want to eat?" I shake my head, and she makes me an unexpected proposal, "Do you want to go to Ivan's place? You can spend some time with him, play or talk. It is only next door. Just change your clothes."

I look up and meet my mother's sad and weary look and begin to study her face as if for the first time. She unclasps her embrace, "What? Go before I change my mind."

One day I return from school, carefully put my backpack down, wash my hands and sit down at the table. My mother is setting the table. She sits next to me and begins the tough conversation, she rehearsed in her mind multiple times, "Olya, I did not know how to tell you this. The letter came two days ago, addressed to Antonina Petrovna, Ivan's mother. She was not at home, and the postman left it to me, saying that this was an urgent letter. Ivan's mother was at work and came later. I gave the letter to her in the morning. Ivan is very ill."

I freeze in a daze, looking at my sobbing mother and being unable to say anything. She conveys the message of approaching death, of suffering parents, and of pain within me.

The days pass. Snowflakes fall quietly to the street. The phone rings. My mother picks it up. Lidiya Vasiljevna's voice is polite, "Hello! I understand you and Olya perfectly, but we must live on and study. She cannot miss lessons for more than three days without a doctor's certificate. My mother hesitates for only a second, "Yes. I understand. She has not been out of bed for a few days. She eats nothing and is mostly silent. I'm anxious about her. Give us one more day, please. I need to talk to her."

"Do you want the school psychologist to work with your daughter? She is an excellent specialist and I'm sure she can help."

"Thank you, Lidiya Vasiljevna. I think we can handle it. Thank you!"

A few days later, I return to school. On the way home, I feel hot. I try to unbutton my jacket, but lose consciousness and fall on the ground.

Knocking sounds at the door of my house force my mother to open it and she sees that an unknown man in an old black coat and a knitted hat with loops in some places is holding the unconscious child in both hands. She rushes to him in horror, "What's wrong with her? Oh my God! What happened?" The man brings me to the sofa in the living room and puts me down carefully.

"Calm down, miss. She has a fever. She fainted on the way home. Now she is just sleeping."

My mother takes the shoes and jacket off me. She touches my feverish forehead and asks the stranger, "Would you please help me bring her into the room?" The man looks down at his shoes, but my mother waves him in, inviting him to my room. The man delicately leaves my mother and me in the room, and shifts from one foot to the other in the living room, not daring to leave without saying goodbye. My mother appears and says politely, "I do not know how to thank you."

"Never mind. I just owe her. I have to go to work. So much snow piled up. I'm a janitor. I was lucky to be recently offered this job. And I have to go." He bows slightly and turns to the door. My mother follows him and shouts, "What is your name?" The man shouts back, "Kostya!" My mother closes the door, lost in thought. She repeats the words: "Kostya! Kostya!" As a prayer.

She looks in my room, making sure that I am fast asleep. She puts on a jacket, takes the house keys, locks the door, and runs along the street.

She runs into the school out of breath. The teacher leaves the classroom and her face reflects surprise, "You? Here?"

"Hello Lidiya Vasiljevna, I need to check something."

"But Olya has gone home a long time ago."

"Yes, I know. She is already at home. Sleeping. I'm sorry, I have to hurry."

She passes by and walks down the corridor under the astonished gaze of the teacher. My mother goes up the stairs to the roof, opens the door, and takes a few steps forward. There are some things from school theatrical productions in the big attic. There is no glass in the small window. She steps a little forward and suddenly something flies right in front of her face. She winces but realizes that these are pigeons. One of them became entangled in rope nets. She quietly approaches, picks the pigeon up gently, and feels its heart beating. My mother gently releases the wings and the feet from the net. She approaches the window, kisses the pigeon, and opens her hands, releasing it.

Life is equally charged with love and destruction, with growth and death. I know that a new flower will spring where the old one stood if you give the little patch of earth enough rest. You see it often in humans.

1) Try to Understand the Attachment

Do not expect that your child will always fall in with your plans on whom he supposed to have as his friends. If you use your whip hand on this too often, I mean the order strings: telling your child 'this kid is good' and 'this one is not', he may feel rebellious.

Become an appreciative listener. It is always stimulating. Encourage your child to tell you about his friends. Do not rush to judge. Take time to think, and even if the attachment strikes a rather alien note, still try to understand. Your presence should spell security. If you make your air rife with suspicion and reproach each time your child wants your advice, he will eventually stop coming to you for it.

2) The Child Confides in His Friend, Respect It

If you respect your child, respect her desire to have some secrets with her friends. Those are likely a pooh-pooh business, and if something serious happens, your child will come to you.

It is a mind-stretching exercise to have a heartfelt conversation with a friend. During these revelations, a child is balancing moral values instilled in her by her parents and compares those to what her friend has.

3) Be Gentle and Try to Prepare Your Child for a Conversation

Look within yourself and find the meaning of compassion. You should associate the loss that your child experiences with yourself. His friend did not escape the clutches of death. Your child is now deprived of his confidante. Give him as much love as your being is capable of. He needs every little bit of it now as never before. This love should substitute in a way the lost affection to fill in the empty space inside.

4) Make Sure Your Child Feels That You're Also Grieving

Suffering increases a person spiritually. A small person goes through the same personal development process when accepting and comprehending the meaning of death for the first time. To know that you are not alone in this journey through the dark side of life is adding light to this darkness.

Loved voices should rustle, buzz, hum, flutter, and ripple in every sentence when you try to explain to your child the nature of things, the existence of life with death as an integral part of it.

Happy memories are the only undying part of life. They comprise the years we have lived and the beautiful people we have met. Explain to your child that the recollections he has about his friend will never leave him. These lovely moments in his memory will fill his world with an invisible presence and sweetness.

5) Give Your Child Enough Time to Accept the Loss

A heart is a delicate instrument. It dilates joyously with beautiful memories and contracts with remembered grief. Each heart recovers its normal state in due time. Some take longer, others instantaneously become the older selves.

Watch over your child and notice every throb of expectancy, any slight quiver for the better. Support him on each stage of this recovery process. Do not rush it. Try to eliminate any anger and resentment by being kind, patient, and compassionately present.

Conclusion

Of course, some influences can never come to good. It is damaging to the gentle childish soul to grieve for too long. Make sure that a healing sensation is creeping over your child. His heart should eventually bound with gladness again.