Sunday, December 9, 2012

Learning About Loss

When we had to put down Neptune, Sam seemed to not be entirely aware of the whole deal, and even unconcerned.  The dog went in a car "down the road" and didn't come back, and while he remarked on the facts, didn't appear to be fazed.

However, a few days later when he saw Pippa walking down the road, he became very upset.  I had to assure him that she would, in fact, return.

The boy also was a bit more anxious about separation.  If I would take the garbage out, he would start crying, or if I looked out the door to whistle for a cat, he'd say, "you stay inside!"

Since we lost Kayla, it's only gotten more intense.  At least he's stopped carrying around her old collar and pretending to be her this week.

Yet he frequently asks me if I'm home.  Uh...yeah, you're asking me face-to-face while we're at home.  Last night he wouldn't let me leave his room to get him some water, or tolerate my letting Mex go potty without tears and all but chasing me downstairs.  And today, Mommy couldn't open the car door to check on the tree while I ran into the Steeple Market without his panicking.

Sam can't articulate his fears, but he's certainly playing them out.  No matter how much we assure him, how we demonstrate by our actions that we aren't abandoning him, he's just very sensitive to the loss he clearly feels.  Such a sad time when you realize that things don't last forever.  It'll be even sadder when he realizes one of those things is him:
How can it be that I, who I am,didn’t exist before I came to be,and that, someday, I, who I am,will no longer be who I am?
But right now, he still believes in Santa Clause, so that's something...

/daddy

1 comment:

ellroon said...

When my grandfather died when I was very small, someone apparently said that he had gone to sleep. That was it... my parents took turns by my bed for sometime trying to convince me I wouldn't die by going to bed.

But my other grandfather lived next door and I remember a conversation he had with me when I was around eight or so while he was planting pansies. He explained that dying was like going to bed and pulling the bed curtains closed. Even then I was able to realize he was comforting himself with his own fears about death and oddly, it comforted me.

Your understanding of Sam's struggle is so insightful and loving, he'll get a firm foundation under him because of it.

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