83 In a time of trouble, such as the death of a family member or friend, parents are faced with the question of how to help the children through this time. In a sense, the question will have many as answers as there are particular children. Since children respond so differently to a situation, according to their age and nature. Parents are frequently brought up short by the realization that they must first face their own feelings and questions. Once these are addressed, it is possible to deal with the child’s questions.
A generally-accepted “rule of thumb” in responding to children’s questions is to give only as much information as the child is actually requesting. As adults, our thoughts on a topic tend to be quite far ranging, while the child’s question is likely to be on a much more direct level. It is better to err on the side of simplicity; if a child needs to know more, another question will surely follow. Your answer to “what happens to someone who has died” will, of course, depend on your own view of this; in any case, a simple picture is usually best for a child. Your honest expression of sorrow and sympathy is very beneficial in helping a child to experience and cope with loss, but uncontrolled emotions are usually troubling or even frightening for the young child. The adult’s efforts to recognize and
accept grief without being overwhelmed by it can be a profound example to a child.
Some children may appear to become obsessed by the death, asking question after question and seeming unsatisfied by any number of answers. The sensitive parent will soon realize that this child is seeking for something other than words to quiet his or her anxieties. Often the best answer is a warm hug and words such as, “That’s enough talk for now; come, it’s time to pick some flowers for the supper table,” (or some other such homely task). This child needs most of all an expression of love from the parent and the reassurance that life will go on, in the form of normal activities, even in the midst of grief. This is not to deny the grief, but to help the child work through it in the way most natural to children— through activity. If it seems appropriate, the child can be encouraged to help bake a loaf of bread for the bereaved family, or perhaps to make a card to send.
The place of ritual in helping children and adults to cope with loss should not be overlooked. Rituals are “special times for special happenings,” in the words of Julius Segal, a psychologist writing in the Washington
Post some years ago. Such rituals, which may
be religious, secular, or familial in origin, “can
Helping Children in a Time of Trouble
Nancy Foster
84 provide a strengthening sense of order and
meaning in times of trouble. They can help maintain the form and rhythm of lives shaken by trauma and grief. . . ” Mr. Segal’s theme was the role of ritual in creating a stable, fulfilling family life, but it can also be applied to times of trouble. For a child who shows a continu- ing, deep concern about a death, establishing a simple ritual can be very comforting. For example, the child may help to create a special setting with perhaps a candle, a small vase of flowers, some beautiful autumn leaves, some acorns or crystals. And at a particular time each day—just before or after dinner, possibly,
or before the bedtime story—the candle may be lighted, a song sung, or a verse recited, “to send our thoughts” or “to send our love” to the one who has died or to that person’s family. Such a ritual may serve as a kind of anchor in a sea of grief or anxiety, as well as diminishing the sense of helplessness in the face of another’s loss.
Finally, a story that contains a simple but meaningful picture of the spiritual origin of life and its destinies can be of great help to a child. From such a story—as from all true stories—the child can take the image or images that will be of most help to him or her.
Nancy Foster has been a Waldorf early childhood educator since 1973 at Acorn Hill Waldorf Kindergarten and Nursery in Silver Spring, Maryland where she now works with parents and children in parent/child groups. She also lectures, offers workshops for Waldorf kindergarten teachers, and is on the visiting faculty of Sunbridge College in Spring Valley, New York. She is the author and editor of Let Us Form a Ring and Dancing as We Sing. She and her husband, a professional musician, encountered Waldorf education and anthroposophy while seeking a school for their two sons, now grown.
84 provide a strengthening sense of order and
meaning in times of trouble. They can help maintain the form and rhythm of lives shaken by trauma and grief. . . ” Mr. Segal’s theme was the role of ritual in creating a stable, fulfilling family life, but it can also be applied to times of trouble. For a child who shows a continu- ing, deep concern about a death, establishing a simple ritual can be very comforting. For example, the child may help to create a special setting with perhaps a candle, a small vase of flowers, some beautiful autumn leaves, some acorns or crystals. And at a particular time each day—just before or after dinner, possibly,
or before the bedtime story—the candle may be lighted, a song sung, or a verse recited, “to send our thoughts” or “to send our love” to the one who has died or to that person’s family. Such a ritual may serve as a kind of anchor in a sea of grief or anxiety, as well as diminishing the sense of helplessness in the face of another’s loss.
Finally, a story that contains a simple but meaningful picture of the spiritual origin of life and its destinies can be of great help to a child. From such a story—as from all true stories—the child can take the image or images that will be of most help to him or her.
Nancy Foster has been a Waldorf early childhood educator since 1973 at Acorn Hill Waldorf Kindergarten and Nursery in Silver Spring, Maryland where she now works with parents and children in parent/child groups. She also lectures, offers workshops for Waldorf kindergarten teachers, and is on the visiting faculty of Sunbridge College in Spring Valley, New York. She is the author and editor of Let Us Form a Ring and Dancing as We Sing. She and her husband, a professional musician, encountered Waldorf education and anthroposophy while seeking a school for their two sons, now grown.
85 My mother, Lola Heckelman, an
enthusiastic, longtime anthroposophist, died so quickly and unexpectedly that it took us all by surprise. But she picked a wonderfully propitious time for her transition into the spiritual world, February 27, 1979, the day of celebration of Rudolf Steiner’s birthday in the one–hundreth Michaelic year. Little did I know that as she crossed over my threshold work would begin.
Though shattered and vulnerable with her sudden death, I accepted the destiny rightness of it all and knew that ultimately I would have perspective from the spiritual wisdom of Rudolf Steiner—a bigger and more universal context for my experience. What I wasn’t prepared for was the amazing response to her passing of my mother’s eleven grandchildren. I watched with wonder as it became evident that she had pre- pared them for her death by the way she had lived her life. It was such a vivid lesson in how our attitudes can nurture and sustain our loved ones left behind. Lola had an unquenchable enthusiasm for the study of the spirit and for the reality of the spirit in all of life. With her passing it was as though she was able to enfold each of the grandchildren from the other side in an embrace of radiating, spiritual warmth. She had loved her spiritual path, lived it and left a legacy of unwavering faith to family and friends. Though they would miss her greatly, for she had
been a powerful presence in their lives, when she went into the next world it became a heralded event. She was home, and, thanks to anthroposophy, we had no doubt she knew where she was.
It came about like this. The life changing phone call came on a cold winter afternoon telling us she had died of an unexpected heart attack. Stunned, I gathered with the children in a group hug where we clung together with shock and grief. But within less than a moment our youngest, a six-year-old son danced out of the hug and emphatically proclaimed, “Grandma died but she’s alive!” It was an announcement of absolute certainty, like a typical no-nonsense reminder from Lola herself declaring, “This is the truth of the matter, so don’t forget it!”
Soon after my oldest daughter returned from work. When told about her grandmother, her face blanched in anguished disbelief and, sobbing, she rushed from the room. Though I longed to follow her, I felt I should respect her space to deal with it in her own way. I was astonished when she reappeared shortly and told us. “How can we be sad? Grandma is just saying ‘Whoopie!’”
And so it went. Amidst our tears and grief these strong affirming statements continued to come from all her grandchildren and