GRIEVING AS A CHILD

My brother Brent was my best friend.  I was aged nine, and the youngest of four.  He was 13 and the third child born.  On a cold day in June, after school, I was at home when my mother heard an ambulance going up the road.  I didn’t know why, but my mother was really worried and rang one of her friends and said, “an ambulance has gone up the road and Brent’s not home yet.”  The person said it would be nothing and not to worry.

Five minutes later the phone rang.  It was my mother’s friend.  He said he would pick her up, it was an emergency.  I didn’t know what had happened so I just cried because I could tell Mum was grieving.  My other two brothers and I had to tell my parents’ friends the bad news.

Over the next few days I became really independent.  I had to get to school, make my own lunch and make tea for everybody because there was no one else who could do this for me.

For the next few months my parents and I didn’t talk to each other about my brother even though I needed to.  I started to get angry, frustrated and got into fights with my parents, but I found out later that that was a way of releasing my grief.  Just after Brent died I became very reluctant to go back into the bedroom he and I had shared, so soon after I moved rooms.

It was hard at school during the first month after Brent’s death.  My work suffered, but worse, other students wouldn’t let me play in their games, or talk to me, because they didn’t know what to say.  Sometimes at school even now I feel like crying, but I hold back my tears so I don’t get mocked.  But why should I hold my tears back?  Crying is just another good way, I find, to release my grief.

Later on, my parents didn't really find it so hard to talk to me about Brent, and we would sometimes talk for a long time.

I found that after my brother died my parents became a little over-protective.  Even now I still can’t do some of the things I could do before.  But they only did that because they feared for my life as well.

Looking back I wish I hadn't got into any fights with Brent, and wished that he was dead.  Sometimes, I only see the times I did something bad to him, or called him names.

I am a Christian still, but find it hard to go to church every Sunday as I am still angry with God for letting him die.  I've only just started to forgive God, but I will never forget.

Brent dying was very sad, but it made me open my eyes to reality.  There are so many people dying nowadays and their brothers and sisters could go through this same experience.  I hope this can be a guide to help them through their grieving period.

Written by Scott at the age of 13 (we think).  His brother Brent died at the age of 13 on 18 June 1990 after being hit by a car.

by Scott Williams, TCF Victoria, Australia

Lifted with Love from the TCF Victoria, Australia Newsletter, June 1995