If you give what you do not need, it is no giving.
Mother Teresa
It had been almost six months since our daughter Kendall died, at the age of nine, after a five-month battle with a brain stem tumor.
It was a devastating loss, but with two other children to love and nurture there wasn’t always the time to slip away and let the tears flow. Still, not being made of stone, it wasn’t easy to hide when the grief rushed in and made its presence known.
It was around this time that I became aware that my youngest child, Celeste, was modeling herself after a jester to urge my husband, Paul, and me out of our intermittent times of sadness.
It was not her job to keep us smiling, and I didn’t want her to take on the role of “caregiver and keeper of her parents’ hearts.” She knew, however, that there was a particular smile that she could flash at us, that pushed our emotions to the side and caused us to explode in an unbridled laugh.
Now, this was a welcome change at most times, but there also needs to be a time of tears to cleanse.
Rest assured, Paul and I were doing our best to keep up a good front when the family was together. Yet moments of sadness might overtake us. These times were relatively sporadic, but to a six-year-old child it must be painful to see your parents grieving.
Celeste came over to me as I sat pondering a memory. Sadness of loss must’ve been obvious across my face. “Mommy?” She said. As I looked up to answer her, she flashed that cheesy grin that usually precedes a spontaneous “crack-up.”
Because I wanted her to know that it wasn’t her job to keep us smiling, I asked her to sit on my lap.
I wanted to protect her heart so I guarded my words carefully. “Celeste, Mommy likes it when you make her laugh, and you have a special way of doing that, too.” Celeste smiled with approval.
“You know that we all miss Kendall,” I continued, “and sometimes when we think of her... we will be happy, and sometimes when we think of her... it will make us sad that she isn’t here with us.”
I paused to read her expression. “Sometimes when we’re sad we might cry.”
Celeste was gazing at me steadily and mirroring my facial gestures in an effort to empathize.
“The thing is, Celeste, that I know it makes you feel sad to see Mommy or Daddy sad, and you want to make us smile, but there is a reason for the tears.” She was nodding her head to show her dislike for our tears.
“You know when you fall down you will scrape your knee?”
“Yes...” Celeste’s eyes were large and intense.
“What do we have to do before we put the Band-Aid on?”
“Wash it.” She was confident in her answer.
“That’s right. When Mommy and Daddy cry, it is like God washing our hearts so that he can put his bandage on us and help us to heal.”
Was this really me talking? I felt as if I was receiving an example from God.
Celeste was thinking this over.
“So even though you may not like to see us crying,” Celeste was shaking her head from side to side as I spoke, “sometimes we need to. Because the tears are actually helping us to heal.” I held her face in my hands.
“And even though I love to see your beautiful smile, please don’t be upset when you see us having a short moment of tears. Just know that God is helping us to wash our hearts, so that he can heal them.”
We concluded our talk with a tight hug and tickle and Celeste bounded down the stairs to resume her play.
“Thank you, God,” I prayed, “for not only helping me to explain to Celeste, but for explaining it to me.”
Loretta McCann Bjorvik