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We were two grown ups surrounded by a sea of girls. We were thoroughly outnumbered. There were seven girls and only two of us. I worked in a little private preschool. I was the teacher assistant. I assisted the lead teacher of a pre-k classroom. Some days, it just seemed like an impossible task.
For the most part, I had the girls figured out. Except for this one little girl, Lilly. One day, this girl would be an angel. She would follow all our directions. She would be the helper of the day. Following her teachers around and making sure they were comfortable. But then, the next day, something would have changed. She would be moody and clingy. She wouldn’t want to do any work. She wouldn’t want to share or play with anyone. She began to make me question my abilities as a teacher.
I was wondering what to do with her when my lead teacher completed the last piece of the puzzle for me. Lilly’s mother was fighting cancer. She would often have to go to the hospital for chemotherapy and sometimes have to stay there overnight. At least, now I knew what the problem was. I was nowhere close to finding a solution for it. Actually, there was really no solution for this.
The little girl was grieving. In her own way. In the only way that she knew. She would try to do what she could. On the days that she functioned. And then everything would come crashing down when she couldn’t take it anymore. So the days continued in this manner. We could clearly make out which were good days and which were not so good for Lilly. And we became her safe space.
We let her have her little tantrums. We made sure that it did not affect the other girls who were unaware of what was happening with Lilly. I could see the confusion in their faces. But seeing me smile through the chaos helped them settle down too. One morning, after I had signed in the teacher sheet, my lead teacher took me aside.
“I needed to tell you something.” She smiled but I could see the sadness in her eyes. “Lilly’s mother had to be hospitalized yesterday.” She didn’t have to say anything else.
We went about the day as if it was just another day. And yet, we anxiously waited for the chaos to begin. Both of us kept a close watch on the little girl. Trying to anticipate her needs. Watching out for the slightest change in her expressions. But she surprised us. Completely threw us off our track. She was a model child. Every task was completed on time. She finished her breakfast without a sound. Except for the little girl chatter, that is. We smiled at each other, the lead teacher and I. It was an uneventful morning. Kids can sometimes surprise you with their resilience. We decided to carry on as if we were unaware that anything was different. If a little four year old could do it, we could definitely try to keep things normal for her.
The morning rushed by, and the kids had all finished their lunch. Soon, it was nap time. The lights in the room had been switched off. The windows were shut and the blinds were drawn. A soft music was playing around in the whole school. The kids were setting up their cots. We helped them pull out their blankies and pillows and their stuffed toys that they brought from home. It was almost time for me to leave as I worked only for the morning hours. Once the kids were settled in their cots, I moved to the teacher table to sign out.
I looked around the room one last time before stepping out. And that’s when I heard it. Just a mild whimper at first. I glanced around trying to find the source. Then I heard it again. Only now it was louder. Followed by sniffles. A heartbreaking wail. I saw a little form sit up on her cot. Her small frame shaking with sobs now. As did her cot.
I took quick steps towards her. By now the other little girls were sitting up too. This was new. This was exciting … atleast for them. A good reason to delay their nap time.
“I want my mommy!” The little girl sobbed. Her arms wide open. Grief is an enigma. It seems to come out of nowhere. She had held it together the entire morning. But something triggered in that moment.
Maybe it was the silence of the room? Maybe it was the soft song playing in the background? Maybe a song that her mom hummed to her when she got ready to sleep? It could be anything. It could be nothing.
But at that moment, the little girl raised her arms. She was seeking comfort. From someone. From anyone. And I was there.
A comforting shoulder. A comforting lap. I hugged her tight. She sobbed. And I tasted my salty tears. The lead teacher gestured to ask If I wanted to leave. And I gestured back that I was fine.
Not a word was spoken in that moment. And yet everything was expressed. She drifted off to blissful sleep in my lap that day. Her body still shaking with leftover sobs. Even in sleep, she seemed to remember her pain.
I gently placed her back on her cot. Careful not to disturb her hard earned sleep. Life has moved on. Both for the girl and me. I never tried to find out what happened to her mother. I was too scared to ask. The memory of that particular day, though, is still in my heart. It’s like it happened yesterday.
How Does One Support Children with Terminally Ill Parents?
This experience has taught me some valuable lessons. Children may appear physically smaller to us. But it is important for us to remember that their emotions are not limited to their physical size. And they might express them in ways that an adult might find confusing.
Expression of Grief:
Grief is not always expressed as tears. Especially in the little ones. They sometimes appear as anger. They may not want to share their things. They may not want to finish their work. Their emotions have ups and downs just like ours do.
Setting boundaries:
We know they are in pain. We may even feel that we need to let go of the rules. But that can actually cause more problems for the child. An emotional child needs and looks for boundaries. In fact, they are constantly testing us to see if we are in charge. Therefore, it is important for us as grown ups to set those boundaries and also enforce them in the kindest but firmest way possible.
Balancing the other children’s needs:
The hardest thing for a caregiver in such a situation is to balance the needs of the grieving child along with the other children in their care. On the one hand, they understand that there is a valid reason for the child’s behavior. However, the needs of other children in the care have to be met too. What worked in such a case is to tag-team. While one teacher focuses on the grieving child, the other teacher can distract the rest of the kids with a book or some other activity.
Open communication:
It also helps the caregivers if they have an open communication with the child’s family. When teachers at school are aware that there is a stressful situation happening at the child’s house, they are able to better anticipate the needs of the child at school.
Balancing our own needs:
It is important for caregivers to remember that we are humans too. It is hard to watch a child go through something and feel like we can’t really help them. Teachers and caregivers need to be kind to themselves too. Taking a short break and regrouping might actually help the child more than trying to stick through a tough experience.
That moment, in which I held her, it didn’t matter to the little girl that I wasn’t her mom. And it didn’t matter to me that she wasn’t my child. All that mattered was the comfort we felt in each other’s arms. That I could be her safe space. A place where she could fall apart and hopefully rebuild herself. A place where she found an unconditional love…
More articles on helping kids in various situations here.
