Here’s some of what I remember. How about you?
Death of a parent. My mom died when I was three. I thought I remembered her but eventually realized that I’d been fooled by photographs. Stepmother rarely mentioned her name and there was nothing in the home to remind us of our mother. However, each Christmas Eve an aunt would walk us across town to light candles on gravesides of deceased relatives, unknown soldiers’ and my mother’s included. The circumstances of her demise were never explained. At some time I overheard that she’d died in childbirth and that a baby-sister had died with her. A tabu topic— as if she’d never lived. When, some years later, a telegram announced my estranged father’s death, deep wounds revealed themselves as rage. “How dare you abandon me as well!”
◊ Research: “Children who are not supported in the early phases of grieving can develop serious emotional and behavioral problems that can lead to the development of some major psychiatric disorders.” [1]
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Other children’s deaths. Aside from the stillborn sister I overheard that another baby-girl “was lost” before I came along. My older brother once informed me that “you wouldn’t be here” had she survived. (To this day he refuses to talk about her and his loss.) In grade 3, a classmate stopped coming to school and somehow I was invited to her (last) birthday party. She never returned to school and soon died of cerebral palsy: no processing of her death at school or home. An aunt and uncle had 12 children: one was killed while playing in the road. This prompted my first experience at an open grave with her five sisters dressed all in white, “like angels” and the priest’s explanation that she’d gone to be with baby Jesus.
◊ Research: “The loss of a sibling can cause long-lasting anxiety in some children while others develop resilience and compassion”. [2]
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Moribund grandparents. By the time I turned eight I’d witnessed the drawn-out end of life process of a maternal grandfather and a paternal grandmother. During occasional duty visits at their bedside I noticed dark their rooms were. The just laid there, all alone. I was told only to keep quiet, not to touch, and to come away so as “not to disturb”. The stink of urine confused me: what was happening to my beloved Opa, always dressed so carefully? No explanation given; questions not permitted. ⇒ Reflecting 70 years later, I’m convinced that seeds of compassion were gently sown in the little boy.
◊ “In the classic teaching of the Buddhist tradition […] compassion is a response to suffering, the inevitable adversity all human beings will meet in their lives, whether it is the pain embedded in the fabric of ageing, sickness and death or the psychological and emotional afflictions that debilitate the mind. Compassion is the acknowledgment that not all pain can be ‘fixed’ or ‘solved’ but all suffering is made more approachable in a landscape of compassion.” [3]
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image: “Death in the Sickroom” by Edvard Munch (1893). [1] https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/15966949/ [2] https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3338871/ [3] Feldman & Kuyken. (2011). Compassion in the landscape of suffering. Contemporary Buddhism, 12(1), DOI: 10.1080/14639947.2011.564831
I am moved by your words as much as I was in first absorbing the passions engendered by Edvards paintings I studied in the Munch museum. I am waiting for more compassion to develop and rage and pain to fade. Your 60 year journey must seem slow but certainly brings promises to others still developing
I was touched by this share. Very sad and poignant stories. Trying to reconcile death myself having recently experienced quite a lot at once. Reading Thich Nhat Hanh: no death, no fear hoping to incorporate the wisdom in those pages.
Peter you are a rock and a remarkable person that had somewhat rough start in life. Lessons no child should have to learn until they are better prepared emotionally, spiritually and mentally. I commend you.
I appreciate your kind thoughts, Ali. Suffering, as you know from experience, shows up in many disguises. As the poet Rumi concludes in The Guest House, “The dark thought, the shame, the malice, / meet them at the door laughing, / and invite them in. / Be grateful for whoever comes, / because each has been sent / as a guide from beyond.”
Peter I can relate to your loss at a young age. My father died when I was 5. He left behind my mother and 5 siblings. Death was never discussed. The sudden passing of my father was never discussed. Grief was ultimately expressed in my mother’s silence and hopelessness and never verbalized. Your previous commentary on forgiveness has helped me. I have forgiven my mother for all ethe mistakes she made. Thank you.
Thank goodness our culture has changed. No one talked about death when the important people in my life died when I was a child. Funerals were not child-friendly events either. I remember when I first heard Elisabeth Kubler Ross speak at an event in Victoria in the early 70s. A legitimization of our inevitable exit from this world. I agree with you Peter that death and it’s unspoken impact can have long held effects on a child, particularly one not ever spoken about. My heart aches when I read your words which must apply to so many others. It is no surprise that you offer support for this in your practice. Many bows, many blessings.
Thank you, dear friend. Compassion, as I’m discovering again and again, is the first cousin of suffering.