When a Child Dies - Christianity Today

Cinda Gorman wrote this article for Leadership in 1989, and readers deeply appreciated its wisdom. Less than two years after the article appeared, friends in her congregation lost their 20-month-old son in a drowning accident. She told us recently, “The death was probably one of the most difficult things we’ve experienced. It was more intense and just as emotionally wrenching as the death of Jarrett [whom she writes about in this article]. It never gets easier.” Yet later, the grieving father shared with Cinda, “You’ve helped us like no one else could.” That’s why a pastor is so needed when a child dies, and why we decided to reprint this Leadership Classic.

I was pushing my two elementary-school-aged boys through their bedtime routine when the phone rang.

“Cinda, this is Dr. Steele. I’m in the emergency room at Grossmont Hospital with Keith and Judy Meeker. Their son, Jarrett, hanged himself on a backyard rope swing this afternoon. He’s been pronounced dead. They asked that you or your husband be here.”

My husband, Steve, another pastor at our church, had already left for an evening meeting. Searching my memory for a picture of the Meeker family, I came up blank. Then I remembered that last weekend Jarrett and his dad had been with the males in my family on a fishing trip with the boys’ choir.

I told the doctor I would be there as soon as I could find care for my boys. I shared the news with my children as gently as possible. My friend Shar was scheduled to drop by that evening, so when she did, I greeted her as the “angel” God had provided to care for my boys.

At the hospital, I got the story: Jarrett had come home from choir practice and was playing in the backyard while his sister napped. His mom had asked him to stop throwing rocks, so he began to swing on a nylon rope suspended from a eucalyptus tree. The rope was knotted at the bottom for a foothold, but a section above the knot was unwoven and created a loop. Judy went into the house to answer the phone and then returned outside to continue her yardwork. It was then that she felt the silence.

Jarrett’s lifeless body was hanging from the loop in the rope. She pulled him out, ran into the house, and phoned for help. She continued her efforts to revive him, carrying her son to the front yard so the paramedics could quickly find them. But it was too late, despite lengthy procedures in the ambulance and at the trauma ward. No one knew exactly how Jarrett’s slender body had accidentally slipped through the rope swing.

Much has been written about helping people through the loss of an infant, but little about the loss of an older child. This requires a specialized and careful pastoral response, as I learned by experience.

Caring for the parents

The first task in pastoral care is ministering to the parents.

Help them talk about the child. The hospital’s “scream room” or “cry room” was ours alone that night. The stunned parents sat together on a couch, their 8-year-old son’s body on a gurney in another room. We talked about the recent fishing trip, about Jarrett’s gregarious, friendly style with other children, his learning disabilities that were improving, his love for God’s creation, and his relationship with his 5-year-old sister, Jennifer.

I didn’t press for details of the accident, because I knew the deputy coroner would soon come for a complete report.

Encourage them to spend time with the body. We went into the trauma room where Jarrett’s blanket-covered body lay. He looked like a sleeping child. I encouraged the parents to stroke his face and hair. Like any caring parent, his mother commented on his dirty socks.

The grandparents and an aunt and uncle arrived. Soon I was in a corner with my arms around Jarrett’s father, a usually cool lawyer who now sobbed over his lost son. I provided tissues and a shoulder to cry on, saying quietly, “It is good to cry,” while we shed tears together.

Discuss burial arrangements. After a while, we discussed the decisions they now faced. Should Jarrett’s body be cremated or buried? This was a crucial decision, calling for mutual agreement. When they decided on burial, I encouraged them to find appropriate ways to involve their daughter in the decisions so she would not feel left out or abandoned during the next few days. They decided to include her in the trip to the cemetery to choose a plot.

Discuss memorial funds and gifts. I brought up the topic of memorial gifts during that first evening at the hospital. This might seem premature, but it was fortunate that we did that night. Media attention the next day provided an opportunity for Jarrett’s parents to make a positive response in the midst of a tragedy. They had established a special fund by then, using the Deacons’ Fund in the church as a collection point. The donations would be used to finance a week of “zoo school” at the San Diego Zoo for needy children. They chose an experience Jarrett had enjoyed.

I also accompanied the family to the next painful stage—returning to the scene of the accident, their home. By now my husband had arrived at the hospital to finish the evening with them. He and I exchanged a few words in the hall and went back into the conference room for prayer. I left the Meekers after offering to return in the morning to help share the news with Jennifer, who was staying with friends that evening. Visibly relieved, they said this was one of the most troubling tasks on their minds.

Discuss available support groups. Later on, parents will need to know about support groups for families who have experienced the death of a child. Some in our area include Empty Cradle (for families who have lost a child under 2 years of age) and Compassionate Friends (for any parent whose child has died). In addition, local hospitals often offer seminars on grief, helpful to families in the months following a child’s death. Groups of this type broaden the number of people with whom grieving families can feel a kinship.

The Meekers found the support they needed within the congregation. Judy’s statement, “People in the church praying for me has been the only thing that keeps me going,” is a testament to the love and care of the people of God in a crisis.

Caring for siblings and friends

I also discovered the importance of helping the brothers, sisters, and young friends of a child who has died deal with their loss.

Avoid misleading terms. While in the hospital’s conference room, we talked about how and when to tell Jarrett’s sister and cousin. Metaphors about “sleep” and “God needing Jarrett” can be destructive and frightening to children. Since children are literal thinkers, these terms could cause them to become afraid of going to sleep or to resent God for taking someone they love.

Metaphors about “sleep” and “God needing Jarret” . . . can be frightening to children.

In the morning I notified Jarrett’s school principal. We discussed the exact details of the accident so she could share the news factually with the school counselor, teachers, and students. I suggested she avoid using the words hanging or hanged himself since my older son’s question had been, “Did he do it on purpose?”

By using “accidentally strangled,” the counselor could rule out suicide in the minds of Jarrett’s classmates. A visit to the school later in the day reassured us about the sensitivity with which the staff dealt with Jarrett’s friends. I assured the principal that the memorial service would be appropriate for children and that any parents who inquired should know their children were welcome to attend.

Choose the discussion site carefully. As promised, I called on the Meekers that first morning to be there when they told Jenny their sad news. Cradled in her parents’ laps, she alternated between tears and amazingly perceptive observations. She said, “I wish I could just wake up and this would all be a bad dream.” When we discussed that accidents sometimes happen even to children, she remarked, “Jarrett never got to grow old and be a grandpa.”

While we chose Jenny’s bedroom for this conversation for the sake of privacy, I now consider that a mistake. Her subsequent unpleasant dreams about things on the walls and dressers might have been because we shared such traumatic news in a place she called her own.

Many books help explain the concept of death to children. Most agree that a 5-year-old has a limited concept of the finality of death. This was not a problem with Jenny, as evidenced in her statements about her brother. We talked about Jarrett’s body still being at the hospital, but that it would be buried in the coming days. (While not the case in this situation, some children take discussion of “bodies” to mean that the head is not included. Again, it helps to remember how literal children are in their understanding.)

Assure children that a full range of emotions is normal. It’s okay to cry—or to laugh. Children in a grieving family need to be assured they can express a range of feelings even though many sad people surround them.

I told Jenny that in the next few days she would want to cry sometimes, and other times to laugh and play even when grownups were sad. Jenny later told her mother, “Pastor Gorman said I could laugh and play or be quiet and show sadness and tears, and it was all okay.”

Include children in the funeral and memorial service. The death of a child also involves ministering to friends and their families. I found myself spending a great deal of time on the phone with other mothers who were suddenly facing the mortality of their children.

One way of reaching out to them was scheduling a specific time to be available at the mortuary. The funeral home provided a filmstrip on questions that naturally curious children ask, such as, “How do they dig a grave?” After viewing the filmstrip with several chidren, my husband and I added thoughts about what we as Christians believe about resurrection. Parents seemed relieved to have assistance explaining the difficult topic of death.

Jenny’s parents and I planned the memorial service the morning after the accident. We scheduled the service so classmates and teachers could attend. We decided to use taped music of the boys’ choir Jarrett had been in. I planned to give a children’s sermon, and friends would be invited to share some good memories of Jarrett. In addition, Jarrett’s baseball team would take up a collection for the memorial fund.

For the children’s sermon, I used toy caterpillars that unzipped into butterflies. I made up a story of two caterpillars discussing what it would be like to fly. One then spun a cocoon (a paper bag) and came out a butterfly. It couldn’t come back and tell its friend what flying was like. Flying was beyond any description a crawling caterpillar would understand.

“In a similar way,” I pointed out, “Jarrett can’t come back to tell us what it’s like where he is now. But we know it’s a wonderful, happy place.”

Keith and Judy prepared a display of Jarrett’s models and baseball cards for the reception following the memorial service. This gave them some tangible way to share their son with their friends and to remember his many interests.

Schedule follow-up time. I stopped by the Meekers’ home after the service. The eucalyptus tree in the backyard had already been removed, and the Meekers commented on the wonderful view they didn’t know they had been missing. (Some experts may suggest this was a premature action of denial, but removing the tree was a decision the family could make and take action on.)

When a child dies, we grieve not only the loss of that child, but also the loss of the future anticipated for the child. Most of the memories center around holidays and particular sports, friends, and sites. For this reason I contact the parents around the holidays associated with children—Halloween, Christmas, and Jarrett’s birthday. I noted these dates and the anniversary of his death on my calendar.

Christmas was the most difficult holiday, and the Meekers chose to celebrate it at a mountain cabin and to keep the holiday rather low-key.

Looking back, I would be more assertive about follow-up than I was. Distance made dropping by difficult, but I wish I’d have done it on a regular basis and with more pointed questions. Not until six months later was I able to encourage more formal counseling.

The divorce rate for parents who experience the death of a child is high, so monitoring family dynamics is critical. While Jarrett’s death didn’t threaten this couple’s marriage, it did raise other issues in their extended family.

Judy has repeatedly said she had too little time alone with Jarrett at the funeral home. Now I would suggest that visitation by family and friends be scheduled at a time other than when the parents go to the funeral home. That way there would be no scheduled end to their time with the body. Providing appropriate time for parents to be with their dead child is a key function of pastoral care.

Caring for yourself

Pastors in this kind of crisis will initially devote a great deal of time to the family in need. By the third day, I was exhausted from a lack of sleep; I took my first-ever sleeping pill. I needed to monitor my needs during this crisis. I also needed to be attuned to the feelings of my two sons, so I sent notes to their school teachers about their friend’s death, making the school aware of my sons’ grief.

While I have never felt crying at a memorial service is inappropriate, I feared that if I cried at this one I’d be unable to regain control. I asked people to pray for my husband and me to get through the service. This wasn’t from a sense of steely pride (I had cried enough by then); I didn’t think my tears would help those attending. Our composure that day was due to God’s help.

I was strengthened by my husband, who was also a colleague. Pastors facing a tragedy that impacts not only a family but a community need partners to share the emotional load. A spouse, a colleague, or a small-group member can be an essential support. Pastors should not have to walk alone.

I wouldn’t want to rerun those wrenching days, but they focused my perspective on ministry and sharpened my skills in grief counseling. And they showed me how God and his people can be faithful to those who mourn.

Cinda Gorman and her husband, Steve, copastor Westwood First Presbyterian Church in Cincinnati, Ohio.