Raising orchids

The first time I encountered death was when I was 14 years old. My great-grandmother was dying and, per midwestern tradition, my father's family gathered as she spent her last days in ICU and then for the funeral. I remember her lying in the sterile ICU room, hooked up to monitors and having ice chips passed over her lips while she moaned in unconsciousness. I remember the open casket, with her small body dressed to perfection for that final rest. But most importantly, I have no memory of any adult helping me or any other child process what we were witnessing and how to handle the emotions. Instead, I watched my grandmother, who had a complicated relationship with her mother, actively suppressing all the emotions that came with death. I witnessed the others actively engaging in avoidant behavior, issuing platitudes, and enforcing social rules so as not to bring these "negative" emotions to the surface. And once the casket closed, there was an unspoken understanding that none of what was witnessed would be mentioned again. 

Death has been at the forefront of my mind this year. Starting with Scruffy passing, then one of Maddy and Teddy's teachers dying, and then a coworker's teenage daughter committing suicide, I've been reflecting on how I was taught to process death and how poorly that served me as I encounter loss in my adult life. The idea that death is anything other than awful, scary and to be feared is something Western culture struggles with. With is massively unhealthy, particularly with how it influences the grieving processes.

So when I learned that Jaxson was actively dying and we had only a few days left, I made a plan to do something that has shocked many. Sitting down with Maddy and Teddy while holding Jaxson, we explained to the kids that Jaxson was dying and that we were going to be taking him to the vet to help him pass. 

Then I gave both kids the choice of coming with us to the vet to be part of the process. Emphasizing for them that this was their decision and there was no judgment either way. Without hesitation, both said they wanted to be with Jaxson as he passed from this world, holding his paw while they said goodbye.

With the pandemic, the topic of dandelion children vs. orchid children has gotten a lot of attention. Thomas Boyce's work on understanding how genetics and environment impact resilience (and the links with mental illness) has been fascinating, but with this past year in lock-down, has become required reading for all given how so many have struggled. For Grey and me, knowing we are raising orchid children, who are more sensitive to disruption and chaos, has been critical to ensuring that both Maddy and Teddy emerged from this pandemic relatively unscathed. 

Though seemingly unconventional, addressing the needs of our orchid children has resulted in them thriving in an environment that should have burned them out. Maddy not only met all her IEP goals this year but was exited from her IEP. Though 504 plans are in place for both kids, their teachers have commented on how they may not need these plans in the future (though I'm fighting to keep these in place for now). The tools and support strategies developed for them have resulted in two relatively gritty individuals who have a far healthy sense of the world than either of their parents (and arguably many members of their family, both living and deceased). 

With Jaxson's death and mourning his passing, Maddy and Teddy have been very involved with the process. They were in the room before he was euthanized and saw his body after he passed, allowing them to see that death could be peaceful as well as final. In the days following his death, they've both talked about him, expressing their sadness, created art of him and for him, talked openly about being sad, and made a point of spending time with Daisy as she has been grieving. We've cried together, talked about souls and beliefs about the afterlife, and begun a discussion about living well. 

What's been shocking has been others' responses to what they are observing, with both kids mourning well when so many have been afraid of what their response would be. I've encountered anger from others with this shock, as beliefs are being challenged (and in one case repressed grieving has surfaced), but generally, the observations have been openings to conversations. There's been a lot of good that from this experience, despite a terrible loss.