Palace of Care – The Christmas Night Markets

Photo by Ross Sneddon on Unsplash

The Christmas Night Markets brought thousands of people to our hospice grounds and stallholders to our basement car park. There was live music courtesy of a guitar-strumming singer who sang Christmas carols that we all knew the words for. It was a family event with many generations represented. I usually only go shopping once a decade, but tonight my inner Ebenezer was silenced and money flew out of my wallet like butterflies searching for sweet nectar.

I usually go with my family but this year my wife was busy, instead my daughter and her friend came along. They were both looking for presents to buy for their mothers. This event was the latest edition of a community engagement project. The aim was to invite people into our hospice grounds, to get to know us a bit better.

Lots of families attended and shared food. Some of our patients from our inpatient unit came down with their family members. I caught up with three families who had come back. All of them were different in many ways but they all shared something in common. Each of the mothers of the families had died in our care.

A little boy lined up to buy churros with his father who reminded me of Hercule Poirot. The boy’s primary school school had visited a local amusement park the other day. He looked well, had grown a little bit since I’d last seen him and he was as smiley as usual.

A young lady had finished high school for the year. Her father was still as friendly as ever and shared a laugh with us. He’d met my daughter before when he had last visited the hospice. She had introduced herself as the new Director of Nursing.

A local politician introduced me to his friends. He told me that his mother had died almost three years ago. This made his eyes glimmer briefly and he had to blink fast before the surface tension of his tears broke. I realised it had almost been four years for me, which made me gulp down my own emotional response.

Time can fly and life goes on, but it sometimes feels too strange. We all missed our mothers in different ways. After Mum’s death, things had never been the same again for any of us.

Palace of Care – View from Four Feet

Photo by Nico Smit on Unsplash

The little boy looked sad. He didn’t say much. Did he actually know what was going on? He had visited hospice many times over the last months. His father would bring the children in after school. It was important to his mother that the children stick to their routines as much as possible. Education was one of the most highly valued things in life for this family.

The staff would print out colouring pages for him to work on. Superheroes were his favourite. He had coloured in Spider-Man pages over the last few visits and the pictures had been stuck to his mother’s room’s wall.

Today he wanted to colour in a picture using his mother’s favourite colour – Yellow. He asked the nurses if they could give him a “Golden Iron Man picture.” The nurses grabbed the activity trolley with art supplies and children’s games. There were some colouring pages but no Iron Man was present.

He went in to see his mother. She looked tired and kept on falling asleep. He knew she was unwell. She had been staying at the hospice for weeks. She used to come home to spend time with the family, but she had not been home for over a week. He missed his mother and the games she would play with them. They were supposed to go for an overseas trip but that had been cancelled. Mum could no longer leave the bed. She was always in pyjamas these days. She used to take them shopping with her. Fun times. It was all so different now.

Their home was different, without mum at home. When would she be coming home? He really missed her. Had he done something to make her not want to come home?

Palace of Care – Leave Request

Photo by Kevin Gent on Unsplash

“Doctor, can I go out on leave this weekend?”

“What have you got planned?”

“I’m going home to spend time with my family, to see my children at home.”

“Will you be doing any cooking or cleaning?”

“No, I learnt my lesson last weekend.”

“You did too much?”

“Yes, I didn’t think to ask for help, I wanted to do the cooking all by myself. It used to be so easy. If I had allowed them to chop some vegetables I wouldn’t have been so tired.”

“It was a struggle wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I became irritated and grumpy.”

“You can certainly go home on leave but I don’t want you doing any work. You are there to rest and spend time with your kids. I don’t want you doing the housework.”

“I’ve had to let it go. After I am gone they will be in charge of the house and do things their own way.”

“It must have been hard for you to let go.”

“I don’t have much time left or energy.”

“You’re human, not superhuman.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going shopping again?”

“Yes, I have to buy clothes for the children…for them to wear to my funeral.”

“Buying the clothes sounds important to you.”

“I’ve always wanted them to look good. It’s important to look your best at all times.”

“Have a good weekend.”

“You too Doctor, see you Monday.”

Santa, death and the Easter Bunny – how to have that hard talk with your kid via @ConversationEDU

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Santa, death and the Easter Bunny – how to have that hard talk with your kid

Peter Ellerton, The University of Queensland

There’s no way around it: children sometimes have to hear it like it is. Despite our desire to keep their early years carefree, we may not be doing them a favour by keeping some hard truths from them. And for those things that are inescapable, like the death of a family member, glib answers won’t do.

We all learn at some stage that the world is not as we’d like it to be. That is possibly the single most important lesson in life. The big question is how to teach it to our kids, and when.

The “when” is sometimes out of our control, as circumstances can dictate. But there are parts of the “how” that can be more manageable.

Children are not empty vessels

Kids create deep and powerful narratives about the world regardless of what we do or don’t do. They do this for the same reasons we all do – to explain how the world works and to create meaning.

It is a mistake to think this narrative is absent in them until we decide to help create one. The reluctance we sometimes have to involve ourselves can be a result of this naive view.

We imagine they are somehow neutral or unsullied in their views, and that when we talk to them about hard issues we are forcing them to come to grips with an imperfect world.

We don’t always know what they don’t know. We assume they have developed a lot of cultural norms when they haven’t, and we assume they are unaware of things they have really thought a lot about.

One thing is sure: if we don’t help them make their narratives, they will do it themselves anyway, and perhaps not in ways that are healthy or optimal.

There are two important things we can do as parents to prepare our children for some deep and potentially disturbing conversations, and to help them build a more rational picture of the world.

The first is to help them make sense of the world through frequent and long conversations. Making meaning is the prime function of language, after all. This is where an established behaviour of talking is critical.

The only way to know how they currently see things is to talk with your child – a lot. Talk about issues big and small, and give them the chance to ask things that take time to well up in conversation.

The second is to treat them as rational beings capable of making sense of what is going on around them.

Children are far more rational than we give them credit for. And they are far more capable of deep insights than we usually imagine.

I work in the area of teaching children to think. The ability of very young children to do this well is a constant reminder of how our educational system underestimates them.

Two-way exchanges

The thing that makes a rational approach possible is treating conversations as two-way exchanges. We don’t just talk to children to instruct them, and we don’t just talk to understand them – we also talk so we can understand each other.

This is a critical point. By talking to understand each other we give children the opportunity to normalise their thinking, and to help understand the norms of mature social thinking. This in turn is important because it provides the ground for a rationality based in social competence, in which we reason to solve problems through discourse and social interaction.

As the Russian psychologist Vygotsky wrote in Mind and Society, children first learn a competence socially and then internalise it.

Every function in the child’s cultural development appears twice: first on the social level, and later, on the individual level.

To put it simply, if you have not modelled how to talk through difficult issues with a child, that child has not learned to internalise a mechanism for dealing with such issues.

This is a key component of teaching resilience – and is there anything we want for our children more than this?. For without the cognitive tools to manage change and uncertainty, they will be less resilient than they could be.

Whether the issue is the crashing reality of Santa’s state of existence, the death of a family member, or a dramatic change in lifestyle, there will be limited recourse for children to rationally understand the situation, and their role in it, if they have not been taught these skills.

So talk to your children about how they reckon Santa does it. Talk about mortality and what it means for us as humans. Talk about what life was like in the past and could be like in the future. Explore and unpack all the implications of these things with them.

Or just talk with them a lot about anything. Give them opportunities to come up with questions about these things themselves. If you give them the chance, they will not disappoint you. And by doing so, you will make them less disappointed.

The Conversation

Peter Ellerton, Lecturer in Critical Thinking, The University of Queensland

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.