At Experience Camps, our campers tell us that one of the best parts about our week of camp is that they can just relax. They know at camp they are not the “weird one” whose family died; everyone there has been through grief. At school? That’s a different story; school is a place where most grieving kids have to navigate who they tell about a family death (if anyone), how they talk about it, and how to deal with being different. This month we invited the teens from our Youth Advisory Board to share more about their grief experiences at school. Stay tuned for part two.
Jaymul, age 16:
I was seven years old when my father died from a crocodile attack. When I moved in first grade, no one knew the reason. I did not keep it a secret—I simply never talked about it. It was something that a six-year-old didn’t know how to explain. Life continued as normal, and by third grade, I had friends, a routine, and a normal of sorts that did not involve talking about my dad. And then there was a day, somehow, when everyone knew. Maybe it was discussed in school, perhaps someone asked the wrong question—I don’t even remember. But suddenly, there was this shift. Kids were regarding me differently; it was as if I was this fragile thing they weren’t sure how to handle.
The routine jokes, the casual conversations—everything was stilted, as if everyone was not wanting to say the wrong thing. But my teacher, Mrs. Wright, didn’t make it awkward. She didn’t take me aside for a big, crying speech. She didn’t act like I was different now. She just continued, acting like the same kid I’d been the day before. The only thing she did was, after everyone left for recess, say, “If people are acting strange, it’s just because they don’t know what to do.” But you do. You’ve been doing it.
That was what got me. She didn’t try to spin it for me, because she knew she couldn’t. She just told me that I hadn’t changed—that my story wasn’t a secret or a burden, but part of who I am. And somehow, that changed everything.
Grayson, age 16
I was 10 when my brother died in a skiing accident. It was in the winter of fifth grade, which made finishing the year awkward, but middle school was a different experience. Kids from the other elementary school merged with mine, so it was a new start where not everyone knew my story. This gave me a chance to meet new people and make friends, but it also led to some of my first experiences of explaining my story.
As more people got to know me, my classmates came to find out, and I did not have to do as much explaining. However, this also meant I did not really talk about it with my friends, because I only mentioned it once or twice, and no one I was close with had experienced something similar. When I went to high-school though, it was a school outside my region, where not a single person knew me, and I knew no one either. Even teachers did not know my story, and again, albeit it older, I had to explain to my classmates, coaches, and friends my story, or why I hesitated when someone asked me if I had any siblings.
Like it or not, this experience made me more comfortable with talking about my loss, as there was no alternative and was constant for the first few weeks. Now, as a junior, it still comes up with new students, but I can look back and see how far I’ve come, now being able to hold a conversation without a quick, panicked answer. Similarly, I have two close friends that have also lost a mother and sister respectively, so they can both sympathize with me, and understand some of the unique things that come with grief, like the hesitation behind simple family questions. Having friends to talk to is important, and has made me more comfortable sharing, but also knowing people who have been through what I have in some way makes me feel understood. While we don’t really talk about our feelings one on one, and are all in a large friend group, the three of us make sure to help each other out when we can, steering certain conversations away from certain topics, or giving a knowing glance when someone says something that relates to one of us.
This is not to say that my friends who did not lose someone are not helpful, as they are still always willing to support me or talk to me if I need, and instead I try to use my story to help them when I can. For example, when they don’t understand why people remember the day their loved one passed away, I can explain and speak from personal experience. In this way, I have friends that I can express my grief to, but I can also use that grief, which I have become more comfortable with, to help educate others and support my friends.
Ann, age 14:
My brother Evan died when I was 4 years old due to respiratory failure and sense I was still in preschool when my brother passed, when I went into kindergarten none of my teachers knew about my brother passing and I was always too shy to bring it up, so I can’t say for sure what type of support was offered in my elementary school but now that I’m in high school I know that if I ever needed to talk to someone about grief at school I could talk to the guidance counselor who from what I’ve heard handles grief brilliantly.
I myself haven’t spoken to her yet but some of my friends have and they say she is very comforting and supporting. Apparently it is a very safe-feeling cozy room and she even offers tea and cookies. I know it may sound like I don’t know what I’m talking about because I haven’t actually gone to the guidance counselor yet, but if I was ever feeling like talking to someone while in school I wouldn’t hesitate going to her.
Our YAB (Youth Advisory Board) is made up of pre-teens and teens who attended Experience Camps and care deeply about helping the public understand how to better support grieving children. We give our YAB a mission each month, in which they share insights about grief and reflections from their own journey. We also use their insights and ideas to inform our programming, initiatives, and campaigns. Who better to hear from when it comes to childhood grief than young people themselves?
