Shh! We Don't Talk About Death in Public!
I wanted to share a story with you of a moment that I, by chance, had the great pleasure of witnessing while on the metro in Brussels last weekend.
In between recorded line announcements oscillating from Dutch to French to English and back again, older couples debating whether or not to head to another weekend market before making their way home, and mothers humming to their babes who were being lulled to sleep by the mechanic repetition of the commute, a group of four girls huddled into my train car, chatting about school assignments and their sleepover plans. Based on the conversation, their heights, and the seemingly new-found crushes on boys in their classes, plus comparisons to my own cousins and the gaggles of children I have met over the past nine months, I would safely wager that these gals would perfectly match the description of pre-teens. To be more precise, I would place them between 11 and 12 years old.
As our communal journey continued, something in the conversation shifted and caught my attention, calling me to tune in to what they were discussing. The girl standing in the center of the group, presumably the one hosting the aforementioned sleepover, and possibly a birthday girl, handed out a head-up to the others that her dad may not be his chipper self. She continued on to explain that her grandmother died and he had not been in high spirits since her wake and funeral. The group responded how those who have worked with children and grief would anticipate and opposite to those who have not would expect. One chimed in to ask how she died, another asked about the services and what happened at them, and the third asked how the girl was feeling and if she was sad. The one who brought up the topic answered every question without hesitation and matter-of-factly. She explained that the grandmother was sick, but she didn't know what from. She said that the services were a bit weird and that she didn't like seeing her grandmother's body laying in the casket, but liked hearing stories about her, especially from when her dad was young. And, she said that she wasn't sad. She didn't really know the grandmother well. But, she was sad for her dad, because he was upset.
After she finished talking, another girl in the group said that her grandfather died last summer. Again, the others asked about how it was, how she felt now, and how he died. She told them it was cancer and that it was really hard for her because the type of cancer impacted his swallowing so he couldn't eat and was really skinny. She said it was a bit scary. Then, the girls tried to determine what cancer it was exactly. They guessed stomach cancer, colon cancer, and throat cancer. The girl couldn't remember the name (esophageal cancer - is my guess based on the words she was saying in an attempt to remember) so they resigned to calling it "swallowing cancer".
The third girl in the group brought up a time that she had a really hard time swallowing after getting surgery to get her tonsils out. They continued to talk about this and other such events. Always going round and round in their group, sharing experiences, asking questions, and providing support. They never once said "passed away" or "we lost them". They said that their person died. And, they didn't sugarcoat their feelings. They said that they were sad and scared or indifferent or really didn't know how they felt. No one offered a platitude or minimized what the other shared. They responded like pre-teens, unknowingly validating each others' feelings, helping each other process what they went through, and letting each other know that they were there to listen and talk about these topics, even if they felt big.
It was not shocking nor surprising to me to hear this group of pre-teens talk so candidly about life, loss, grief, and challenge all while riding a public metro as part of a weekend hangout. But, judging by the side-eye glances I noticed periodically from other adults on the metro, it was deemed inappropriate by some.
Stigma around talking about death and grief is learned.
I think we all need more impromptu support groups in crowded metros.
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