What Children Need When They Grieve

Auteur
JULIA WILCOX RATHKEY lost her husband of fifteen years, David Alan James Rathkey, in the September 11 attacks on the World Trade Center, where David had his office. A trained facilitator for Parent to Parent, a counseling service for parents, Rathkey lives with her children, pictured here, in New Jersey. For more information on this book and author, visit www.juliawilcoxrathkey.com.

Texte du rabat
Written from the perspective of a 9/11 widow and mother, this is a simple but essential reference for parents of children who are mourning the loss of a loved one, with a focus on the indispensable things--like honesty and routine--that children value most during this difficult time.

Résumé
GIVE YOUR CHILDREN WHAT THEY NEED MOST

When Julia Wilcox Rathkey lost her husband, her three children lost their father. Within hours, it became sharply clear that each child--a twelve-year-old daughter and twin ten-year-old sons--would grieve the loss in a radically different way. While one harbored anger, another experienced denial, and the third was gripped with fear. Rathkey quickly determined that each youngster would require a different response from the adults in their lives, particularly from her. But despite the array of emotions and reactions, Rathkey arrived at four essentials that each child would need: routine, love, honesty, and security. These four concepts, however simple, are crucial for those who want to successfully guide their children through one of the most difficult passages they may face in life: the loss of a loved one.

What Children Need When They Grieve explores:
• The scope of a child's reactions to death, including grief and fear
• Advice on how to talk with your child, and how to recognize their need for privacy
• What other adults can do to help, and what they should refrain from doing
• Concise and to-the-point advice about your child's daily routine, at home and at school

Written with compassion and the knowledge that comes from the experience of loss, designed not to overwhelm with too much information, and with an introduction by an expert in childhood bereavement, What Children Need When They Grieve offers strategies, support, and comfort for grieving families.

Échantillon de lecture
Our Story

On September 11, 2001, my husband, David, was killed by terrorists in the attack on the World Trade Center. We had just celebrated our fifteenth wedding anniversary. We had met each other over the Atlantic on a flight from London to New York. He was English and I am American. It was a match made in heaven, or certainly pretty close to it given our altitude at the time. We had three beautiful, happy children to show from our years together. Emma was twelve, and identical twins, Ian and Matthew, were ten. We had a fun family vacation planned for November when we were going to celebrate our anniversary and my upcoming fortieth birthday. Never did we anticipate the turn of events on that terrible day.

It started out as a very normal day. No different from any other. David got up and got ready for work while we all still slept peacefully in our beds. He didn't go in to say good-bye to the children because he didn't like to wake them, so that morning the children never got to kiss him. He always woke me up, though, and I still remember his kiss good-bye that soon-to-be-dreadful morning.

School had just started for the children the previous week, and all three were enjoying being back with their friends and adjusting to their new schedules and teachers. It was fun until that day.

I was at home when I heard the news, just on my way out the door. My brother called to tell me that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I immediately tried calling David but got no reply on his work or cell phone. After that, I ran upstairs to turn on the television to see what exactly was going on. As soon as I saw the screen, my heart leapt and I felt dizzy. A gaping hole was in the same building David worked in, and right around the area of David's office.

Not knowing what to do, I called two friends who came over immediately. Frantically, I tried every way I knew how to get in touch with David. Then, miraculously, he called. I thought he was safe. I started talking away, asking questions, but he quickly interrupted me and told me that he was trapped on the eighty-third floor. He was surrounded by smoke and was with two female colleagues, whom he was trying to comfort and protect. They had no way of escape. David had been just below the point of impact when the plane struck the building because he had been in a meeting on a floor beneath his office. After the plane hit, people around him were discussing the need to evacuate when an announcement was made over the loudspeaker. Workers were told to return to their offices, and that there was no need to evacuate. David took the elevator up to his office on the eighty-third floor and waited for further instruction. Shortly thereafter, everyone realized the necessity of getting out of the building. Waiting patiently for an elevator to arrive, there was limited space with the mass exodus and David graciously stood back saying that he would wait for another elevator to arrive. One never did.

With this final phone call, David wanted the children and me to know that he loved us very much. He was trying to get out and had called 911, but the smoke was thick and his chest was tight and burning. He had plenty of water, though, and a handkerchief with which to cover his mouth. I promised him that I would try to get help and I instructed him on what to do in a smoke-filled room. I even made suggestions on how he could perhaps get to the stairs, using desks or chairs as a guiding path. After too brief a conversation, David said that he had to go because it was becoming difficult to talk. He was struggling to find air. Reluctantly, I hung up the phone.

Immediately, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of panic and helplessness. What could I do to help David? I had to be there for him. How could I save him? I frantically called 911, the New York City Police Department, our local police department, and anyone else I could think of who might be able to help. Everywhere was in chaos, and as time marched on and I was getting no closer to saving David, I knew time was running out. As my swell of fear and panic rose, I watched the towers fall.

Immediately, my first thought was for my children. I quickly called their two schools. I needed to know if the schools had said anything to the students, and if so, what. Additionally, if nothing had been announced, were they planning on telling the students anything at all? Both Emma's middle school and Ian and Matthew's elementary school assured me that nothing had been announced to the children, and that nothing would be said during the course of the day. The schools intended to shield the students until dismissal, at which point it was up to the parents to determine what would be said.

Confident my children were oblivious to the unfolding disaster, I took a deep breath. I needed time to clear my head, collect my composure as best as I could, and to think. I didn't know for sure that David was dead so I had to handle the situation as well as I was able when I picked up my kids from school. I needed to get some answers.

Sometime after my phone conversation with Emma's middle school, the strategy of the school changed. Among all the chaos, unbeknownst to me, an announcement was made informing the students that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. Nothing was mentioned of the collapse. The children were then told that anyone who was worried about a family member could go into the office and try to reach his or her parents. Knowing that her dad worked there, Emma went to the office immediately. She tried calling home several times but the phone was…