My husband and I attended a funeral for the sister of a friend. It was very sad. She was an out-going, generous 40-year-old mother who died after a 15-year battle with breast cancer. She left behind two teenage sons-one sixteen and one eighteen.
We arrived early and stood outside extending condolences to family members. Our friend was so appreciative that we had come. It meant a lot to her even though we did not know her sister. The church was filled. The service was beautiful. The eulogies were funny and poignant.
Outside, at the end of the service, I asked our friend how her nephews were doing?
She replied, 'Not well, they have a father who is not really a father.'
She smiled at us again in gratitude and said how much she appreciated us coming.
On the way back, I sat in the car pondering how kids process the death of a parent-and, in this case, a divorced mother who, by all accounts, was warm, funny, and passionately devoted to her kids. I thought about the lovely service, and the fact that the church was filled with sympathizers, when all of a sudden, her phrase came back to me- “They are not doing well. Their father is not really a father.” It hit me that something had been glaringly missing for these boys. It was not their father, it was their peers!
I had seen only two teenage girls two rows up from us. The funeral was held on a Wednesday at 10:30 in the morning. That would have made it difficult for a class, on a school day, in the middle of the week, to attend.
When the dad of one on my son’s middle school classmates died suddenly of a heart attack, the entire class went to the service held on a Saturday. When another father was killed in a car crash, the 11th grade attended the memorial service scheduled on Sunday. When a teammate’s mother was diagnosed with beast cancer, my son’s whole team wore support emblems for her on the sleeves of their baseball jerseys during the weekend games so their teammate’s family and other parents could see and know of their support.
How much better might it have been for both boys had their friends and/or classmates been able to attend their mother’s funeral? It was difficult for me who didn’t know her, to watch her casket being carried down the aisle followed by her family. How comforting could it have been to see peers in the pews, supporting their friend’s grief and pain, offering collective sadness, and strong group empathy. That kind of group presence can be so very powerful for emotional strength and healing.
These two sons just lost their deepest bond. Their mother is gone. She will not see the youngest graduate from high school, or the oldest from college. Her sister, our friend, has just been diagnosed with the same aggressive breast cancer. I cannot imagine the fear these boys must have of losing an aunt too. They will need the strongest, most positive peer support system possible. Unfortunately, in that church, on a Wednesday morning at 10:30am, only two were present.
Tweens and teens need to mourn great loss with those they spend the majority of their time with--classmates and friends. Peers ought to have an opportunity to attend a friend’s funeral or memorial. So, if that means we adults must supply transportation, put off the service until a weekend, postpone until after vacation, or wait a little longer so that our child’s best friend can attend, then that is what we do. As for conflicts of interest? We are adults. We can adjust. Our children’s emotional needs come first.
Our friend was so grateful for our presence at her sister’s funeral.
Her nephews needed no less. In fact, they needed more.
Margo@MomOpinionMatters.Com
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