A family I know will be taking a trip to Disney World soon. But they won’t be telling the kids until the night before, just like in the commercial. I’m sure the girls will jump up and down with glee; I know my daughter would. Jumping up and down seems to be a default means of dissipating excess energy for her.
I don’t think there’s anything more fun than telling children they will be going to Disney World. Unfortunately, most of the news we bring our children is nowhere near as much fun to deliver. Routinely, I inform my son that we are out of some favorite snack of his, that I don’t have time to run to the store for more and that I really don’t have time to take him to Game Stop. My daughter hears, “Sorry, kiddo, no sleepover this weekend” more than she wants to, I’m sure. And neither of my kids wants to hear it’s time for a flu shot or the dentist.
I take the daily bad news deliveries in stride. Some news, though, is a challenge to deliver. I’m an older mom and, as a consequence, my kids don’t just have embarrassingly old parents, but also older grandparents. My mother passed away three years ago but had been sick for a long time. We didn’t really need to tell the kids how sick Grandma was; they could see it for themselves. When she died, they were witness to how our family deals with death, attending the wake and funeral.
Recently, my father was diagnosed with cancer. Telling my children about Grandpa’s illness has been harder; Grandpa didn’t look sick. We knew, though, that he would get sicker—and look sicker—as his treatment progressed.
Giving a child really bad news is no hit and run affair. I sat down with my daughter at a lull during our day and told her that Grandpa is really, really sick. If she were younger, I would probably have added a few more “reallys”. She asked if he would get better; I told her I thought he would but he’d have to see an oncologist. She asked what an oncologist was. I told her that an oncologist is a doctor who helps people with cancer. “Oh,” she said, clearly processing some deep thought. I expected she’d have questions about cancer. “I thought it was someone who didn’t go to college,” she said.
My dad is in pretty good shape, as these things go, and the prognosis is good. Still, he’s the last grandparent my children have. I want them to live fully every moment with him that they have. Being honest about his health seems the best way to do that.