Last night was really tough. The twins and I were in our after-school routine, as we were most weekdays. I started the bath as usual and put one twin in after the next. As I began to wash Charlotte’s hair, Wyatt said to me, “I really really really want Daddy, Mommy. He’s taking foreverrrrrr to come home. He’s been in the sky foreverrrrr.” My heart dropped. Anytime they bring Erik up my heart usually skips a beat, but this was different. The feeling took my breath away a bit as I realized that maybe this whole time they were under the impression that Daddy was coming back. And they were just patiently waiting, desiring, wanting. So I did it. I officially used the word to them. “Daddy is dead.” Now, I have heard Charlotte say this to me once randomly, that her Daddy is dead, but I had never officially said the sentence to them using that word. Nor did she really understand what she was saying based on the conversation at that point. It was my first time saying it straight out like that to both of them. “Daddy is dead.” It was also the first time they understood a bit about the concept of death and were actively paying attention to my response. With confused shocked looks, they stared at me. “What? Daddy is dead?” Wyatt said. “Dead, Mama? Who killed Daddy?” Charlotte said. Just like that the wind was knocked out of me again. Who. Killed. Daddy. How do I answer that? They were definitely not old enough to know the answer to that, nor was I ready to even have that talk with them. So as quickly as I could I tried to come up with something I wouldn’t regret. I didn’t want to lie and I didn’t want to mislead them. Even at 4 years old. So I simply said, “I will tell you when you are older.” Wishing and praying as I said this response that neither would continue to ask me any more questions about it. Luckily I only got one why response to it and my answer of them not being old enough yet sufficed. But the conversation about Daddy was not over.
A few comments from them as the conversation went on that just bewildered me that this was what we were talking about were:
“Daddy is dead, so is he laying on the ground? Then he would get dirty if he’s laying on the ground.”
“Why didn’t Daddy go to the hospital if he was sick, Mama?”
“Will you get sick, Mama? Will you still be here with us, Mama?” This one really stuck with me as I could see the worry in their eyes and the need for reassurance that I wasn’t going anywhere. The worry I know all too well. That worry that sits in the back of my mind each day as I do anything. The worry of being the only surviving parent. That I was it. I was the only parent they had left.
As the questions and comments continued it took a turn. Something that I didn’t truly actively realize until last night. “Well, when will Daddy come home?” Charlotte asked. From me telling her he was dead and her asking who killed him to talking about him being sick and everything in between she still thought there was a chance he would walk through the front door. And as much as my heart didn’t want to say the words even to myself I knew I had to speak them to her again so she may hear it this time. “Daddy is never coming back sweetheart, Daddy is dead. He cannot come back.” “He’s not coming back? Why, Mama? Ever?” She responded. “Never, babe. I’m sorry.” As the words came out of my mouth I saw the devastation on both of their faces. A look I could now never forget. The pain that I just caused. The hurt I could see in their eyes. The look from learning about their reality and actually understanding it for the very first time to the extent that they could. A reality that they didn’t deserve. As the feeling of their devastating look settled into me I saw Charlotte’s eyes tearing up. Her head dropped and she said shakily, “But I really miss Daddy.” She turned her head away from me and tears started streaming down her face. Wyatt was just about to cry too as I tried to comfort her and he somehow found the strength I needed so badly at that moment and rubbed her back as I hugged her. And the tears started rolling down my face. I couldn’t hold it in, and all I could say was, “I really miss Daddy too.”
As I tried to compose myself and give them some type of comfort, I told them he would always be there in spirit with them. He would always be in their hearts. And they could talk to him anytime they wanted. They didn’t fully grasp what I was trying to tell them and I wasn’t surprised. They were still only 4 years old. Again, I thought to myself, I cannot believe I have to have this conversation with our 4-year-olds. In my last attempt to comfort them, I said, “Daddy loved you so much and he is so sad he is not here with you right now, but he will always love both of you.” And Wyatt goes, “And he will always love you, Mama.” “Yeah, mama, Daddy will always love you, Wyatt, and me,” Charlotte responded as she pointed to each of us, still with tears in her eyes. And in that moment, they were the ones that comforted me.
