As a Catholic kid, we used to pray the rosary as a family. When something horrible would happen, we would gather in my parents’ room and pray about it. We would sit for what seemed like hours, repeating the prayer over and over and over again, until our lips went numb and the syllables blended into a chant.
Many religions have a similar tradition; from Hinduism to Buddhism, prayer beads help us keep count as we are comforted and connected to ourselves, to each other and to some sense of spirit. We collectively concentrate our thoughts on a specific event, tragedy or intention.
There is a power in those beads.
It’s a physical object that creates a tangible shared experience among everyone there in that moment; everyone who is hoping, wondering and grieving. Your feelings are validated as you’re surrounded by love, and even more simply the recognition that you’re all holding onto the same exact bead.
Now that many of these traditions are becoming less and less common, how do we grieve in our “modern” household?
What’s our protocol? How do I teach my kids to feel pain, fully and completely — not to run from it, but rather to lean into it? When we are looking for the next step to take, what can we hold onto?
I don’t have the perfect answer, but I think it’s pretty important to figure this out. I am preparing my kids to eventually live and survive on their own, as independent adults. From figuring out finances to ordering a pizza and giving proper change, we practice real-life bit by bit, every single day. We don’t, however, practice managing grief, pain, addiction or depression. We push these inevitable realities down the road in service of creating a childhood without pain or worry.
I am (by many mothers’ standards) shockingly honest with my children. My husband laughs as we recount our minivan conversations on the way home from school, touching on topics that would make many parents uncomfortable.
“Mom, I’m pretty sure Santa Claus isn’t real… Is that true?” Without a moment’s hesitation I say “No, he is in fact not real.” Other days, harder questions arise. “Mom, do you think you and Dad will ever get divorced?” I paused at this one for a moment and then responded that yes, in fact 60% of marriages do end in divorce, but I sure hope ours will not. My kid was a little shocked at this but also quite excited because he heard you get two Christmases in these situations. This was a great time for me to tell him that life doesn’t always go as planned, but that he is so capable and smart so when horrible things happen, he can and will eventually thrive.
I don’t pretend that I am getting it right. But I think I am onto something here. When you don’t practice life (all of it) with your kids they cannot be prepared to give change to the pizza guy, find their way home when they’re lost, or grieve the loss of you, of a spouse or even simply the loss of a job.
In addition to being a mom, I am also a personal coach. When clients first start working with me, I warn them that they will feel a “contraction,” as we call it. They will want to quit and stop and go right back to doing what they were doing before we met. They will try to avoid the pain and struggle. I stop them and explain that no, they must go through it, not around it, and I invite them to observe each step in the process.
The simple act of preparing clients for how they are to feel allows them to celebrate the contraction and understand it is a necessary and vital part of the process. This, in my own way, is what I am doing with my children. I am giving them something to hold onto. It’s going to be bumpy and you will learn hard truths like “no, Santa Clause is not real.” Toys cost money and yes, one day I will die, and nope, I don’t know when and that’s okay.
All I have is what comes naturally to me and that’s truth, preparation, and surrender. I will feel it all so deeply, both the pain and the beauty of life. It will never be perfect and we won’t get it right. But I will continue to show up and feel so fully and completely all the bits of this beautiful life.
I will also continue to search for the equivalent of a rosary or prayer beads for my kiddos and find the way forward that feels right for me and my family to process grief and loss together. All ideas and thoughtful suggestions are welcome, as it’s through each other that we find traditions, prayers, and mantras that give us something to hold onto as we prepare to let go.
