Kid Grief

I haven't been sure whether to write or post this or not. Frances's struggles to deal with the divorce I've largely tried to keep private. It is her very own first tragedy and I've no business poking around in her head to share her messy feelings and terrors with an audience, especially when I know perfectly well that audiences grow with trauma. But Frances's Take on Adult Relationships is not complete without some glimpse at the other side, in which Mommy and Daddy's new relationships are not happily ever after for a little girl who still misses her family.

As potentially invasive as writing about her grief might be, it would surely be worse if I told the world that she was feeling just fine.

In We're Still Family, Constance Ahrons argues that watching a parent enter into a new relationship is often harder for kids than the initial divorce. Partly because it's another series of changes, partly because children often fear losing their parent's attention and focus to someone else, partly because it can make the divorce itself seem more irrevocable. According to the Experts, there are a lot of things that parents can do to mitigate these effects, including waiting until you're ready to be in a new relationship, taking it slow, keeping plenty of kid-only time, piling on the affection and reassurances, and waiting at least two years after the separation to either move in together or get married. (Thank you, Cat.)

Not that this makes it easy. Frances has responded just as well as I think a kid possibly can--which is no surprise, because that's how she typically does things--but we've still been dealing with a few issues that date from around the time she was told not only that Greg is my boyfriend but that her Dad has a new girlfriend. More big changes for a small girl.

I can't just tuck her in and go at bedtime anymore.

When she asked me a few weeks ago if I could sleep with her "just for a little while" instead, and I said no, she grabbed my arm and said "PLEASE, Mommy," with an edge of desperation in her voice. "OK. Just for a few minutes, though," I said, and climbed in beside her. It's become a habit, and I can no longer just kiss her and go. When I tried it again Sunday night she wandered into my room two minutes later and stood at the foot of my bed. "Hey, kiddo; what's up?" I asked her. Frances burst into tears. "I just wanted you to sleep with me for a few minutes!" she wailed.

So back we went, and I cuddled her, and she went to sleep.

She is asking for a lot more reassurance in her own undemanding way.

For instance, one morning she threw her teddy-bear at me. "Frances!" I scolded. "Are you supposed to throw your toys?"

"No," she said, and got very quiet and serious. I leaned over and kissed her cheek and she grabbed my arm. "You still love me even when I hit you, don't you, Mummy?"

Or how many times each day I now hear, "When I am a grandma and you are a grandma you will still take care of me, won't you, Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetpea, I will." How scary it must look when your Mommy and Daddy stop loving each other and start loving other people. Maybe it could happen to you, too. Maybe they could stop loving you and fall in love with another little girl. "For as long as you want me to take care of you, I will take care of you."

"I will always want you to take care of me," she says with great assurance.

The saddest has been the missing.

Especially for the first few days after the Boyfriend Talk, she missed her Daddy and cried about it a lot. And she missed her old house and cried about that too. I asked her what about the old house she missed. "I miss the roof," she said. "And I miss the bottom part. I miss the frogs in the backyard. I miss the flat part. I miss NB."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," I said. "That's a lot of things for a little girl to miss. It must be so hard. You've lost a lot of things. I wish I could give them to you."

"I wish you lived in Daddy's house," she said.

It was the first time she voiced anything like a wish for a reconciliation.

I remember when Erik and Frances and I all used to snuggle up in the big bed with Frances in the middle, back when she was a baby and toddler, and she would roll back and forth and grin in utter delight at seeing her two favourite people both smiling back at her. She's lost that and I can't get it back for her. I can give her other things that are at least as worthwhile in their place--a sane mother, for example, or a better relationship model, or better communication skills. But can she understand any of that at four?

The most flummoxing has been the--I don't even know what to call it. I can't call it defiance, but it's as close as I've ever seen Frances get to it. "Frances, sweetie. It's time to get dressed. Frances. Frances? Hello? It's time to get dressed. Honey, put down the toys. It's not play time. It's time to get dressed." She doesn't rebel or tantrum. She doesn't do anything; in fact, she gives no indication she's heard a word I've said.

As four-year-old misbehaviour goes, it's pretty mild. It slows me down in the morning and that's about it. What's going on in her head when she's pretending that the person standing right beside her and speaking right into her ear isn't actually there? Is she angry at me, and expressing it in a safely passive-aggressive way? Is she feeling too rushed and like she doesn't have enough playtime? Is she stressed or unhappy and not sure how to express it? Is it just a typical stage? Is it the result of eating too many blueberries? Who knows.

All I know is, it's not like her, and given everything else that's going on in her life, the very last thing I want to do is get into a power struggle with her--about anything, but especially about the trivial stuff she ends up ignoring me over. ("Frances, do you want apple juice or water with dinner? Frances? Frances? Hello? Frances McBean, I'm asking you a question. Apple juice or water? Hey!") Because I know her well enough to know that when she is feeling happy and secure, most of the time, she is a charming, social, well-behaved, people-pleasing kind of little person. So.

So. In a few weeks we're both going to be at school, and one of the unvoiced promises I've made her is that I will make sure we have more time together then than we do now. I will make sure that however I arrange my homework and working out and writing, it will leave me with more time to spend with Frances than I currently have--because that's one of the reasons I'm doing this. And we will spend that time doing things that she likes doing, that she gets to choose, as much as I possibly can. I'll arrange the morning schedule to give her more time to dawdle. We'll keep talking about feelings (oh the conversations about feelings we've been having these last few weeks!) and how it's ok to be angry or hurt and I'll still love her no matter what. I'll slather her up with reassurance and affection and attention and see if that can bring back her nuclear smiles.

Posted by Andrea at August 20, 2008 10:00 AM under Single Momming

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