As I settle into bed with my three youngest kids, we gather around the iPad. My partner is currently flying from Virginia to California, a rare adventure for him as a teacher. This four-night absence feels monumental in our household. To help the kids grasp the distance, I pull up a map of the United States. Their eyes widen in awe as they learn that it takes five hours by plane or nearly 39 hours by car to reach their destination.
Next, we explore the world map, revealing how small the U.S. appears in the grand scheme of things. Though we’ve examined maps before, their reaction suggests it’s as if they are seeing them for the first time. I point out London, where their Uncle resides.
“Wow, that’s so far,” my eight-year-old son, Ryan, remarks. Then, my nearly six-year-old daughter, Lily, inquires, “Where is Grandpa on this map?”
In that moment, my heart skips a beat. It has been over four months since we lost my father—their Grandpa.
“Grandpa is in heaven,” I respond, trying to project confidence. I can already sense the question that’s about to follow, yet I find myself unprepared. I believed we had addressed all the necessary topics. I read them age-appropriate books, shared tears, provided pictures for memories, and included them in the memorial. I thought they understood. But how can a six-year-old grasp something I struggle to comprehend fully?
“I mean, where is heaven on the map?” she persists.
Interestingly, Ryan, who typically has all the answers, is silent. They both are eager to know precisely where their Grandpa is right now.
“Well, it doesn’t quite work like that, sweetie. Heaven isn’t a place you can pinpoint on a map,” I explain. “No one alive really knows what it’s like. But many believe it’s a beautiful realm where your spirit continues and you get to be with your loved ones again.”
They nod thoughtfully, absorbing my words. Just then, my three-year-old jumps in, demanding to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I find myself unexpectedly thankful for this distraction.
The conversation shifts, and I grant them another ten minutes of playtime before bed. As they dash off to their rooms, I linger over the map, wishing I could locate my father on this device. Imagine if there were an app for that—a way to connect with loved ones once more, to explain to our children what it truly means to say goodbye, to learn how to navigate the emptiness, and to confirm that I’m saying the right things.
As a grieving parent, it’s challenging. Sometimes, I convince myself that my children have moved on, that they aren’t preoccupied with the loss. Perhaps this is why I haven’t brought up Grandpa lately. It was a shock when they asked where heaven is instead of Disney World. I answered as best I could, but if I’m honest, I wished I could find heaven on the map, just to see for myself that all my loved ones are there—waiting and at peace. To truly know.
If I were a more accomplished writer, I might compile a list titled “Five Ways to Comfort Your Children After Losing a Grandparent” or “A Guide for Parenting Kids After the Loss of a Parent.” But frankly, I’m at a loss. I don’t have all the answers, and I doubt anyone truly does. We simply do our best, just like in every other aspect of parenting.
Moving forward, I aim to be more attuned to my children’s feelings and keep their Grandpa’s memory alive. I will trust that while I may never pinpoint heaven on a map, we will one day find it together. This commitment is for them and for myself.
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