Letting our Children be Sad

In my ‘Listening to Children’ posts, I am often chipping away at a romantic view of childhood as a happy, carefree time.  We want our children protected from the serious problems of the world, and we certainly do not want them to suffer, but the reality is that children do suffer and struggle as they make their way through ordinary mishaps and serious losses that are a part of every childhood.  When we encourage children to write or to tell about their own experiences, they will sometimes recount painful or even tragic situations, and they should be allowed to do this.  Children should not have to protect their grown-ups from knowing that they have suffered fear, rejection, betrayal, and loss.  If we are clinging to our own wishes that our children’s lives be free of these struggles, our children may not feel free to tell us about significant pain that deserves the attention of caring adults.  Consider the story I shared last week by fifth grader Ginny.

My grandfather was my most favorite Grandfather (who was my Mom’s Dad) he had a very kind & sweet loving voice.  I would usually visit him for the summer sometimes. I would always do things with him.  HIS name is Rick Roberts who is married to my grandmother Sadie Roberts. I have loved him so much. So one day he was sick. I said, “Grandpa what’s the matter are you okay?  He said don’t worry I’m alright don’t worry about me old people should get sick.  Now lets take a walk.  So we did. We talked & he said something I’ll never forget he said: Ginny you know I love you very much.  Well I’m really sick & I might die but never forget me cause we love each other & lets never forget how much we love each other.  I said: OK Grandpa But you know I’ll always love you no matter what. The next two weeks he died. I know that he loves me  & I love him very much.

When Ginny was invited to write about her own experience for researchers who wanted to know what it is like to be a 5th grader nowadays, she used the opportunity to make a beautiful memorial to her grandfather.  Her story had the power to make members of our research team remember the loss of their own grandparents.  We felt privileged to share this sweet sadness with a child.  When adults invite children to tell their stories, we occasionally get stories like this, and our listening strengthens our connections.  It makes us better able to guide our children’s development.  Ginny was not invited to share her story with her classmates, but I believe that such sharing would be healthy.  Children Full of Life is a 2003 Japanese documentary film, directed by Noboru Kaetsu.  https://topdocumentaryfilms.com/children-full-of-life/#google_vignette The filmmaker followed a 4^th grade teacher in Kanazawa, Japan.  Mr. Kanamori’s students wrote in notebooks and each day three students shared their story with the class.  The film captures a day when Ren reads a story about his grandmother’s death.  His story evoked tears from some of the other students, and Mr. Kanamori gently, but courageously guided the children as they shared feelings of loss.  This led to a painful revelation by a classmate, Mifuyu, about the death of her father several years earlier.  We see the other children struggle to express their compassion for Mifuyu and to connect this compassion with their own experiences of loss.  By the end of the school year, we see Mifuyu proudly sharing a picture made by her father before he died.  She is finally able to tell stories about her father, and her classmates are able to support her.  Sometimes the sharing of stories entails the sharing of suffering, even for children.  When we invite children to participate in this sharing, even when it is painful, we are inviting them to become more full-fledged participants in a human community.  We are giving children the opportunity to listen to the struggles and joys that others are experiencing, and to understand that the challenges they go through, while difficult, are not completely unique.  We share each other’s pain, and this is a critical part of being human.