A Time to Move On

My last post focused on allowing my children to grieve and how I was trying to help them through that process. However, eventually there is a time to help kids move beyond their sadness so they don't get stuck there. That is what we have been working on this past week.

Overall, my kids have been trying really hard to make the most of our new situation. They've searched for new friends. They've endured long car rides in order to discover new places that we can take ownership of. They've developed a riding course for their scooters and have a secret play place they can ride their bikes to. And yet, they have still been struggling to accept that we live here now.

Whether it's Nate praying at night for God to "please move us back to Denver right now," Isabella getting off the bus in tears because it's a beautiful sunny day and if we were back in Denver we would be playing on the playground with our best friends not coming strait home, or both of them pouting through a church service because "this is NOT our church" there are constant examples of how the two of them are so focused on what they've left back in Colorado that they are missing out on finding the joys that could be found here. In fact, Isabella told me that one of the girls who has been trying to be friends with her told Isabella on the bus that day she was crying over her old friends that she wished she had sat next to someone else who was more fun. Of course this hurt Isabella's feelings and she used it to fuel her sadness for how much she misses Colorado. But in that little girl's defense, who wants to sit by a girl wallowing in sadness, especially when you're seven?

Yes, it is OK to miss our friends. It's OK to miss the mountains and the restaurants we liked and the schools we went to. It's OK to miss Grandma and Grandpa and the big tree in the front of our old house. But at some point we need to accept where we are. We think about the things we miss and find ways of filling up that spot with something new. We miss our friends, so we need to find new ones. We miss the mountains, so we need to discover the lakes and beautiful parks that are here. We miss the quick places to eat that were near our house. So we need to discover what those places could be here in Ohio. We recognize what we do have. A new house. A neighborhood with tons more kids in it. A pond. Buses to ride to school. New places to visit and discover.

Because we have two choices. We can be constantly sad about what we left behind or we can look forward to the life ahead of us and make the most of it. If we chose the former, people will respect our choice and allow us to be sad and give us plenty of room to wallow in our self pity. They will get the message loud and clear that they could never live up to our life back home and so they won't even try. And we will be very lonely and even more sad.

But if we choose the latter there is hope and adventure. People will want to show us what they have to offer. And we can be happy here and still miss our life back in Denver.

It's important for kids to be allowed to grieve. But we need to help them learn how to move beyond the grief at some point so they don't miss out on what life has to offer them next. I know many adults who were never taught this. And admittedly, there are times I still struggle with this. Helping my kids through this process has been helpful to me as well. Grief is not overcome instantaneously. It takes time. But just like other areas of our life we have the opportunity to make choices regarding our behavior. We can choose to remain sad or we can choose to pursue happiness.

How does this same lesson apply for other examples of sadness or disappointment?

A Time To Grieve

The hardest thing by far for me as a parent is that helpless feeling I have when my children are in pain. I would do anything to take their hurt, or sorrow, or sadness away.

Which is why the hardest part of our move to Ohio has been the grief it has caused my children.

I think forever in my memory will be the day we told the kids we would be traveling to Cleveland to see if it could be a place we would be willing to live. The opportunity for my husband came quickly and without warning, especially to the kids. Originally there was silence and processing. There was disappointment and worry. But overall, it had gone better than I had expected.

A few hours later, I had taken the kids to swim lessons and was waiting out by the pool for Isabella to come out of the changing room. I looked up and saw my beautiful blond-haired blue-eyed girl running toward me, tears streaming down her face, choking back sobs. She threw her arms around me and began to cry.

My mind raced. Did she stub a toe? Did someone in the changing room say something mean? What, Isabella? What is it?

She could hardly spit out the words between her sobs.

I don't want to move. Please don't make us move.

My instinct in this moment was to immediately tell her it was going to be OK. I wanted to tell her not to cry. That this was going to be a fun adventure. I wanted to get her to focus on all of the positive the job promotion for Daddy was going to provide for our family. Essentially, I didn't want her to hurt. I wanted to take away the pain.

But the truth is, my little girl was grieving. And she had every right to feel the things she was feeling. Because I was feeling them, too.

And so I held her tight. I didn't say anything for a long time. I just let her cry and cry and cry and cry.

I listened as she told me how she didn't want to leave her friends.

I know, Isabella. It will be very hard to leave them.

I listened as she said she would miss Grandma, and Grandpa, and Papa D and Pop Pop, because we won't be able to see them whenever we want.

I know, Isabella. It will be hard to be so far away from the people we love so much.

I listened as she said she really wanted to go to her new school and be with her best friend.

Yes, Isabella. I know. I know.

I listened as she said she didn't want to move far away to a place she didn't know. She didn't want to not know anybody and have to make new friends. Please Mommy. I don't want to go!

I know, Isabella. I know. It will be hard. It is scary. We will miss our friends so so much. And it is OK to cry. It is OK to feel sad. It is OK to grieve.

As a mom, I want to take the pain away from my children. These past weeks I have wanted to take it away when my kids clung tightly to their best friends and cried and cried the night before we left. I wanted to take it away when my son told me before he went to sleep that he just wanted to go back to Colorado to be with his friend and that he was feeling "sad in his heart". I wanted to take it away when my 14-month-old baby leaped out of my arms in effort to reach into the computer toward Grandma as we were Skyping and then scream and cry as I pulled her away from the screen so her older brother could have a turn talking.

I want to take it away. But I can't.

There is a time to give hope. There is a time to give reassurance. There is a time move forward and focus on the new.

But I have learned through this immensely emotional time for my family, that there is a time for all of us, children included, to grieve. And that is important, too.