They often say that children possess a unique emotional intuition. Even when they can’t articulate their feelings, they can pick up on the emotional vibes surrounding them. When they struggle to express the sources of their unease, they may react in unexpected ways, sometimes acting out in manners seemingly unrelated to the actual issue.
My husband, Mark, received a cancer diagnosis when our children were just four and nearly three years old. We decided against using the term “cancer” in front of them, as they were already familiar with it. Their grandfather had passed away from cancer before they were born, and we didn’t want to instill fear by telling them their own dad was facing the same battle.
As the weeks of Mark’s treatment progressed, I found myself barely managing the storm that was our life. The grief over the sudden shift in our reality weighed heavily on me, compounded by the stress of grappling with health insurance and looming medical bills. My emotional reserves were depleted, yet I was tasked with nurturing our children daily.
Despite the support of our wonderful community, chaos erupted at home. The kids became increasingly aggressive with one another, and I was overwhelmed by the constant crying. I often found myself shouting at them to stop, only to realize that their fighting was escalating. It felt as if a dark cloud had settled over our home, disrupting our lives in ways I couldn’t pinpoint. The more I attempted to escape into my own world, the more my children clung to me, fighting over my attention.
One day, a message from my daughter’s preschool teacher landed in my inbox. She expressed concern for my daughter’s behavior and suggested a meeting with the school psychologist. My heart sank. I felt like a failure as a parent, fearing that I was allowing my struggles to spill over into my daughter’s school life. Apparently, she had been distancing herself from her peers, crying often, and asking about her dad—emotions she had yet to share with me. Was she worried about my reaction? Did she think I wouldn’t understand? I felt devastated.
At the meeting, I walked in with my head down, bracing myself for criticism. However, the compassionate approach of the teachers, rooted in the Montessori philosophy, opened a dialogue. We gathered in a circle of small chairs, sharing our thoughts openly about my daughter’s behavior and my challenges at home. The school psychologist, a nurturing woman with a comforting presence, shared a powerful insight: “You’re trying to shield your kids from the fear that comes with the word ‘cancer.’ In doing so, they sense something is deeply wrong without understanding what it is, and that uncertainty is far scarier for them than the reality of the situation.”
Her words struck a chord with me. She encouraged me to craft a story using animals to help my children process what was happening. Perhaps a daddy bear or a wise old owl could face cancer, go to a kind doctor, receive treatment, and ultimately recover. This new narrative would allow them to see the possibility of a happy ending, even if things were different afterward.
They also suggested using the beloved children’s book, Go Away, Big Green Monster by Ed Emberley, as a tool to illustrate how we could banish the “monster” of cancer from our lives. Inspired, I went home that very afternoon, eager to share this perspective with my children.
After reading the story and weaving in our own experiences, I asked my four-year-old, “Who was that story really about?” His soft reply was, “Us.” It felt good to finally bring our struggles into the open. I admitted that I missed Daddy too and that his absence was hard for me. My daughter listened intently, her quiet demeanor indicating she was absorbing every word.
Later that night, as we wished upon stars before bed, she surprised me by asking what Daddy’s wish would be. I told her it would likely be to be home with us forever. Her soft, whispered response, “I just miss him,” cut deep. While it pained me to see her sadness, it also filled me with pride that she could articulate her feelings.
While our situation isn’t resolved, at least we now have a dialogue about our struggles. Opening up has given us hope to address the difficult emotions that arise each day. I am grateful to my daughter’s teacher for reaching out and helping me understand the intricate emotional landscape of young children. And I hold immense gratitude for the dedicated surgeon who tackled my husband’s cancer head-on.
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In summary, the understanding and support from educators can make a significant difference in a child’s emotional well-being. By fostering open conversations and using creative narratives, we can help our children navigate their fears and uncertainties.
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