The hard stuff.

   Hallie was laying in her bed with the covers pulled up over her head, sobbing.  She wouldn't talk to me, but she would let me wrap my arms around her and try to comfort her.  Just don't try to pull those covers off of her head.  I get it, the whole hiding under the blanket thing.  I did it just five months ago trying to block out the world and the loss of a baby, trying to keep those things away from me.  The blanket means protection.

  At some point as a parent your resposibility shifts from just teaching proper behavior and nurturing your child, to having to teach that child how to deal with the hard things that life can bring his or her way.  In my opinion this is more dificult and so much more important than all the other "stuff".  Our neighbor, who Hallie loves dearly, went in for surgery a few weeks ago and had some complications.  She slipped into a coma and has been in that state ever since.  She has a teenage daughter and husband who are now trying to sort through life without her there.  We found out a few days ago that the doctors are predicting that she only has days left to live.  It's really, really tragic and my heart aches for her family.

   Hallie knew that Mickie was "sick" in the hospital.  Sick was the simplest way I could find to describe what had happened to her.  When I received word that Mickie would soon be leaving this world, I was left with the responisibilty of explaining death to my 5 year old.  Not the death of a stranger, or the loss of a baby she never met, but the death of a person she knows and loves.  A woman who she could count on for popsicles, and babysitting.  A woman who we enjoyed spending afternoons with walking the dogs.  A woman who genuenly cared about Hallie and her little life. 

   That night when Hallie went to say her prayers I decided that would be the best time to gently break the news to her.  She was cozy in her bed and we had just sung a song.  It was prayer time and I told her, "Hallie, make sure you ask for a special blessing for Mickie and her family, because it looks like Heavenly Father is ready to bring Mickie home to be with him."  She looked at me with big, round eyes as the realization of what I just said hit her.  The tears instantly began to fall and the blanket was quickly pulled up over her head.  Not a word from her.  Just the shaking of a sobbing little body under the blanket. 

   After a good, long cry I coaxed her out from under the blanket and into my arms.  I told her, "I know this is hard...but Mickie is going to be with Heavenly Father and that's a good place to be."  She looked up at me with wet eyes and a runny nose and said "But I'm REALLY going to miss her."  Ah yes, here is the hard part of death.  No matter how great our understanding and beliefs about life after death, we are still left with a hole in our life where that person used to be.  We MISS them.  We will all really miss Mickie, but are still praying for a miracle that she somehow makes it, because while we believe in a loving God and eternal life...we still (selfishly) really don't want to have to miss that person.  Even more, we don't want her family to have to miss her. 

    Our night ended with Hallie sleeping in my bed with me.  She would randomly wake up throughout the night, reach over for me, scoot up close, and start crying again.  This went on for most of the night.  Since then, I have suggested that whenever she gets sad she can get down on her knees and say a prayer to ask Heavenly Father to help her feel peaceful.  That seems to be helping and there hasn't been anymore tears since that first night. 

   This experience really opened my eyes about the hard things to come...because they will come.  I realized that night that it's my job to teach these children to have faith, turn to their Father in Heaven, and ask for the help they are going to need to get through tough times.  It's learning to deal with our trials that make us strong and make us faithful, and there is nothing I want more for my children then for them to be strong and faithful.