When our children were little, I worried about losing them, not to illness, death, but to kidnapping. I felt our community was safe, but I was aware that bad things could happen.
Then, when my daughters were nine and five, ten-year-old Jeanine Nacarico was kidnapped from her home in Naperville, Illinois and murdered—a watershed moment for many. Though this occurred in another Chicago suburb, it was something horrid, unconscionable that could happen to any family: Jeanine home alone sick, her mother checking on her, but a man breaks in, takes her, rapes and murders her. Days later her body is found.
Shattering. I couldn’t get a grip. I read newspapers for answers—the mother did something careless? Absolutely not. The horrific event shocked suburban communities, underlined that yes: these things actually happen… even though you have been gifted with two precious daughters to raise.
I needed to cope, take more seriously my duty to keep them safe. But is it even possible to teach meaningful safety, stranger danger to children? And how specific should a mother be? Not that specific, children need to have joy in their lives. And it was way too early to tell them certain things.
LIVING, LEARNING
Because yes, the motherhood journey can be fraught with jagged turns, constant fears. Variables are many. The phone call before we had cell phones, a male voice telling me he has my daughter. I hang up, call her school, and while trying to control my voice, I tell the person who answers to go immediately to Room 204 and make sure my child is there, sitting at her desk. This woman does and yes, Carrie is in class, the call was evil…but even today, those those creeps still exist.
And now, though all my children are raised, I ask myself: did I simply experience luck? Definition: Success or failure apparently brought by chance rather than through one’s own actions.
But it is not ALL LUCK. Within reason, my husband and I did everything we could to keep our children safe—but the one major variable: the world out there. They must live in it; so what to tell them? We learned it’s a process, from within to without. When they are very young, instead of leaping to the boogey man on the outside, scaring them, it’s best to build on the strengths they possess on the inside. And the rule must be that you answer their questions as honestly as possible, emphasizing positive information. But it is often frightening for parents—sexual predators do exist. So concluding that a child’s own strengths might be their best defense, might not harm their carefree lives, makes it necessary for them to be aware that not everyone is a friend, not everyone is looking out for their welfare.
We taught our daughters that their bodies belonged only to them. Before their nightly baths, they often ran naked through the hallway, laughing, confirming, honoring their bodies, and knowing that everything about them was good—even sacred.
They trusted us. They knew they could go to us to discuss anything. Such talks helped them form a personal shield of armor that they gradually learned to rely on outside the protection of home. We knew they would need us less and less.
But we also kept their safety in mind, didn’t frighten them, only saying that if someone’s words or actions caused them to feel threatened, that was a sign to say no, to get away, call for help. We encouraged their questions about anything. But I confess that when they were little and the questions were about sex, and simple answers weren’t working, I often metaphorically crossed my fingers when giving the answer! I never lied. I just didn’t give them the full scoop, depending on their age. Because children are their own selves. They react differently to information. When our older daughter’s school notified us that sex education would be presented in a special class, we talked to her. Using a recommended book as a resource, we gently explained things in the most positive way we could.
“Do you have any questions?” my husband asked when we were finished.
“No. Thanks.” She couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. Four years later, when we went through the exact same scenario with the younger daughter, she had many questions. A child is their own person for sure.
But I did make mistakes. I did not share the news of a rape in our suburb when our oldest was in the 7th grade. She heard about it, did her own research, and much later said: “You should have told me about the rape, educated me instead of ignoring it.” She was right, and just rereading this underlines how parenting can be confusing….what to say, what to do…depending on the age and temperament of the child. Find a way to tell the truth.
And as they matured, if our daughters had questions about adult behaviors, they often asked their friends, rarely us. This is normal. And yes, our daughters and our son remained safe—never went missing. The only loss we experienced was the natural one—they grew up.
A THERAPIST SHARES
But loss is never very far away for any of us. Pauline Boss, a family therapist affiliated with the University of Minnesota, created a theory for those who lost someone: either because the physical person is missing or the mind of that person is gone. She calls this heightened grieving process the ambiguous-loss theory.
Her breakdown: Type One: there is physical absence, but psychological presence. Examples: kidnapping, missing bodies due to war, 9-11, natural disasters, or genocide. More common examples: absent parents due to divorce, giving a child up for adoption, or the loss of physical contact with family due to immigration.
Type Two: there is physical presence, but psychological absence. The loved person is psychologically absent, emotionally or cognitively missing. Examples: Alzheimer’s disease, dementia, traumatic brain injury, AIDS, autism, depression, addiction, or other chronic physical or mental conditions that takes away a loved one’s mind/memory.
These losses are life altering. They are the known unknown, families unable to grieve in the traditional manner. Dr. Boss calls this “frozen grief,” relating that it’s part of our American heritage. Boss: “…we’re very uncomfortable with not knowing. Our culture doesn’t know how to handle ambiguity. It’s really about wanting to be in control.”
Her guidelines for dealing with this grief can provide comfort and help.
Don’t blame yourself—life isn’t always fair; bad things happen for no reason.
Find a new you—if your role in life was defined by your relationship to the missing person, try to find a new role.
Express yourself—being sad/angry about the loss is a normal response to an abnormal situation. Don’t bottle up emotions.
Revise attachments. Grieve for your loss while cultivating new relationships; celebrate what you still have.
Discover hope. In time, you’ll become more comfortable with uncertainty; you’ll find things you can control to balance ongoing ambiguity.
And as always, thanks for reading.
Sources: http://www.ambiguousloss.com
(AARP Magazine The Missing by Christopher Beam and David Dudley)