The Quiet Mourning

I remember reflecting in my dad’s car one summer night.

I was 13 years old and we had just left the show where Jurassic Park had been released. The smell of his new cologne hit me in waves, a scent he never owned when we were under one roof.

I tuned out the music, leaning closer to the cracked window, reflecting on how things use to be. Now, I had to count the times we spend quality time together, something I never thought I would have to miss.

Tears began to roll down my face as I mourn the old ways. Our visit was coming to an end.

I felt that now I had to be a big girl and pretend, but I cried silently because I secretly didn’t want this night to end.

I don’t know which was worse, that I didn’t know how to express myself or that I had already made up my mind; even if I had known how, that my parent’s happiness was above my own and I couldn’t make them feel worse.

I was quietly mourning.

Years later, I wrote a book titled “Lacie’s Moon,” with the help of my daughter. My aim was to create a bridge for parents and children, providing them with a starting point for conversations about difficult emotions.

The thought entered my mind that your little one might be trying to shield you from their own grief as well.

As adults, we understand that loss comes in many forms: the end of a friendship, divorce, the death of a loved one, or the passing of a pet. Children, however, process grief differently. Through empathy and open communication, we can help them navigate their emotions and find healing together.