On a cozy evening, my three youngest munchkins and I pile into bed, sharing the iPad like it’s a treasure map. My husband is soaring through the skies, en route from Virginia to his brother’s place in California. As a teacher, he rarely travels for work, so his four-night getaway feels like a mini family crisis. With a few taps, I bring up a map of the United States, and my kids gasp in awe, realizing that it’s a five-hour flight or nearly 39 hours of driving to get there.
Next, I switch to a world map, showing them how small the U.S. is in comparison to the vast globe. Their excitement feels fresh, as if we’re exploring maps for the first time. I point out London, where their Uncle lives.
“Wow, that’s super far,” my 8-year-old son Max exclaims.
Then my almost six-year-old daughter, Lily, pipes up, “So, where is Granddad on here?”
My heart sinks a little, and I take a deep breath. It’s been four months and 14 days since we bid farewell to Granddad, my father.
“Granddad is in heaven,” I reply, trying to sound confident. I know the next question is coming, but I’m still not ready for it. We’ve talked about this before. I’ve read them age-appropriate books, shed tears with them, and shared photos to preserve his memory. I even included them in the memorial services, thinking I’d covered all the bases. But, how can a six-year-old grasp a concept that eludes adults?
“I mean, where is heaven on the map?” she asks, her innocent curiosity piercing through me.
Max, who usually has all the answers, falls silent. They both want to know exactly where Granddad is right now.
“Well, it’s not that simple, sweetie. Heaven isn’t a place you can pinpoint on a map,” I explain gently. “No one alive really knows what it’s like. But many believe it’s a beautiful place where your spirit lives on, and you get to be with your loved ones again.”
They nod, processing my words. Just then, my three-year-old bursts onto the scene, demanding to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Thank you, troublesome threes!
The conversation comes to a halt, and I let them have ten more minutes of screen time before bed. They scamper off to their rooms, and I find myself staring at the map, wishing I could locate Granddad on this device. Imagine if there were an app for that! One that could show us our loved ones one more time, helping us explain the difficult concept of saying goodbye, learning to fill the void left behind, and reassuring me that I’m saying the right things.
My kids are still so young, and their questions sometimes hit me like a double-edged sword, reminding me of my own grief. Sometimes, I forget they’re mourning too.
Navigating parenting while dealing with my own sadness is a daunting task. It’s far easier to pretend they aren’t thinking about it or have moved on, which might explain my reluctance to bring up Granddad lately. It caught me off guard when they inquired about heaven instead of Disney World. I answered them the best I could, but deep down, I wished I could just find heaven on the map, if only to see that my loved ones are there, waiting in peace.
If I were more eloquent, maybe I could write “Five Ways to Comfort Your Children After Losing a Grandparent” or “A Guide to Supporting Kids After Losing a Parent.” But honestly, I’m at a loss. I don’t have all the answers, and I doubt anyone truly does. We just do our best, as with all things parenting.
For now, I’ll strive to acknowledge my children’s feelings more openly and keep Granddad’s memory alive. I choose to believe that while I may not be able to locate heaven on a map, one day, we will find it together. I commit to this for them and for myself.
If you’re interested in more about navigating the complexities of home insemination, check out our other blog post here. And for those looking for resources on fertility, this article is quite informative.