The words were simple, delivered without malice or sorrow, almost like a casual observation that no one would think to dispute. “Of course they play basketball better than you. They have both a mom and a dad.”
In that moment, my eight-year-old son was trying to reassure his older sister after she placed third in a basketball competition during the season’s first practice. His intent was to help her comprehend that despite her countless hours practicing alone—perfecting her shooting and dribbling—she was at an inherent disadvantage; she only had me.
At their father’s funeral—after heartfelt tributes from family and friends, including myself—my children were given the opportunity to share their thoughts. My son chose to remain silent, but my daughter, just seven at the time, walked up to the podium, looked out at the 600 faces gathered to mourn a man taken too soon, and simply said, “My daddy liked to play basketball with me.” Then she turned to me, and the three of us—my daughter, my son, and I—followed behind the coffin of the man who was meant to be our rock, now reduced to a collection of fading memories.
Since that day, her passion for basketball has surged, fueled by a desire to honor her father’s memory and to emulate his skill. This season, she improved from last year’s performance, yet third place felt like a disappointment. To her, basketball transcended mere sport; it symbolized a connection to her dad.
I didn’t witness my daughter’s reaction after my son’s comforting words in the car ride home; I can only imagine the tears that may have filled her eyes or the weight of grief that hung heavy on her small shoulders. The silence that enveloped the backseat was deafening, a hush that drowned out the incessant worries of single parenting and day-to-day life.
Almost two years have passed since that heartbreaking day, two years of navigating motherhood while my children process their own grief. They often ask, just before bedtime, “Why did our dad have to die?” The right words to comfort them remain elusive. I haven’t been able to read much since the tragedy, so I fell back on the truths I’ve held onto since that fateful day.
I told them the plain truth: Yes, they face challenges without a father figure. I explained how, with two parents, one could cook while the other helped with basketball shots, and how our family structure is irrevocably altered. I reassured my daughter that her hard work had paid off; third place was an achievement worth celebrating.
As we shifted topics, both kids seemed content—my son satisfied with his insight and my daughter pleased with her progress. Yet, the truth I’d shared lingered in my mind like a jagged puzzle piece refusing to fit into the bigger picture. Yes, they have a disadvantage, but I regretted not conveying that every child faces unique struggles, invisible burdens that may feel like disadvantages, whether or not they have both parents. I wish I’d expressed how perseverance in the face of such challenges is a remarkable strength, one that many adults struggle to find.
I wanted to tell them that while our family is cracked, sometimes the strongest structures rise from the rubble, built not to conceal the fractures but to support them.
In a world where I’m raising my kids at a disadvantage, I’m learning we’re all constructing something. With each effort, we’re laying the foundations for a future that could someday feel strong and whole again.
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In summary, navigating life after loss is fraught with challenges, especially for children. While acknowledging the absence of a parent creates a sense of disadvantage, it’s crucial to remind them—and ourselves—that everyone faces their own struggles. What matters most is how we continue to build and grow together, nurturing the bonds that remain.
Keyphrase: coping with loss in parenting
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