I Want to Go to SeaWorld, Now!
This one is about how kids grieve vs. how adults grieve.
My kid, Taliesin, was barely thirteen when we lost her dad. The early years after Kim’s death were the hardest on both of us in many ways because I had a steep learning curve to overcome, having abdicated my parental authority to my husband long ago. I was the backup parent when it came to the day-to-day functioning of our household. I went to work. My husband, Kim, stayed at home. We had reversed traditional roles. Kim cooked. Kim cleaned. Kim did the laundry. Kim raised our daughter. He was her primary caregiver, and she thrived in his care.
I always knew that she belonged to her daddy heart and soul since her first breath. So when he died, Taliesin, poor girl, went from being nurtured by Father to being barely cared for by Basket Case, not an easy transition for either of us. We alternated between holding and comforting each other and screaming at each other. The screaming was often set off by her unceasing repetition of the entire score of Phantom of the Opera from the backseat of the car (we lived at least forty-five minutes away from everything). When asked to sing something else, she responded, “Daddy would never ask me to do that. He loved my singing.” She’d cry all the way home. If our blowup occurred at home, she’d retreat into her bedroom, where I could hear her talking to her father about my insensitivity in particular and how terrible I was in general.
I couldn't understand her hypersensitivity and why she wouldn't listen to me, let alone comply with a simple request. For her, on top of resenting my newly found authority over her, my hypersensitivity and all-too-in-her-face grief upset her. The only thing we could agree on was how much we hated it when an innocent store clerk said, "Have a nice day." We knew that we'd never have a nice day again—ever. It was the two of us against the world and each other. It was a new relationship in the making forged of tears.
If I had been paying closer attention, I’d have realized that the problems Taliesin and I were experiencing had as much to do with the grief process itself as they had to do with our shifting roles as mother and daughter. In general, adults and children grieve differently. I wanted to sleep. She wanted to go to SeaWorld. I wanted to be alone with her. She wanted to invite the entire seventh grade over for a chat. I gave our televisions away and couldn’t bear listening to the radio. She played music and sang constantly. I wanted quiet. I assumed that because she wanted to be with her friends and demanded non-stop activities, that she was ok. Yet, her behavior baffled me because I couldn’t reconcile her extreme closeness with her dad with the grief that bubbled up in spurts. I’d later learn that this is normal. Adults require “alone time” with their grief, even if they must make an appointment with themselves to grieve. Children, particularly teenagers, need friends to talk to and activities to distract them to mitigate the onslaught of emotions they are feeling. While adults can sustain high levels of emotion for long periods, children move in and out of intense emotion.
Tips on finding a therapist: Ask for referrals from family, friends, and co-workers and do your homework. Don’t be afraid to switch to another therapist if it isn’t a good fit, just give the relationship a shot before making a change. Don’t be afraid to speak up if there’s something bothering you about the therapy itself. As with most issues, concerns can be fixed with communication. Therapists are bound by a code of ethics. If something seems untoward, run fast and far in the other direction. Check out the resources page for more information.