A Parent's Lesson in Letting Her Child Grieve

My daughter lost a friend to suicide recently. We learned of her passing while we were still at school.  Immediately upon hearing the news I went to my daughter and young cousin, (I am guardian to my cousin during the week so she can attend the same high school as my daughter) they are both freshmen, same as the student. At that point, I did not know if they knew the student or not.

As soon as I walked into library and saw the look on my daughter's face, I knew she knew. I gestured for her to come over. We walked across the school hallway to my office, I closed the door and she said, "Annie's dead" then buried her face into my shoulder and sobbed. Standing, I held her tight while her whole body cried. (name changed)

After some time, we went to find my young cousin who was friend's with Annie as well. I walked into the room where most of the freshmen were sitting. A young man asked, "Tashina, can we smudge?" He was referring to the sage and abalone shell that happened to be sitting on the table in the front of the class (I believe in my heart Great Spirit ensured it would be there). I quickly checked with our Dean of Students, who I know to be a Sundancer, he said, "Yes, they can smudge." The young man, who has been raised traditionally lit the sage and took it around the class. As he did so, students began sobbing into their arms as they sat in the desk. I sat at the front of the class and prayed for these students. My prayer was asking for strength, asking Tunkasila to give these students strength to get through the next several days.

My instincts told me to get my girls to the tree, our Sundance tree. I called our medicine man, told him of the news and said I'm bringing the girls to the tree. He said, "There is a sweat tonight. Come to sweat."

I let the girls stay in the classroom with their friends to cry together. A few elders came in to offer words of comfort to the girls and to sit with them.

My role quickly became apparent to me. I was their support. I was to provide a safe space for my girls to grieve, to be with each other, to be with their friends. My role was to support them but be acutely aware of their every move and emotion. I stood close by, I sat nearby, I was present in every way to her and my young cousin.

As my step-father and I drove them to the Tree, my step-father had the girls make 4 red tobacco ties each. He told them to pray into each one, then tie them. He said, "Pray for your friend who passed, pray for her family, pray she makes her journey to the Spirit World."

We went straight to our medicine man's home where he spoke to the girls about their friend's spirit, to pray for her spirit because she is here with us for four days, that is our belief. After four days, her spirit will crossover to the Spirit World.

In the dark night and under a new moon sky full of stars, we walked into the circle towards the Tree. This place is home for my spirit, I've prayed here for years. We are safe here. With the light from the vehicle lighting our path, we walked to the center of the sacred circle to gather around the beautiful source of strength for so many, our Sundance tree. We leaned into the tree and prayed. My heart was open as I asked for the strength to be strong for my girls. I asked for guidance and for the knowledge to know when to listen and when to speak. I prayed for Annie's spirit to find peace, to find her ancestors and to find eternal happiness with Tunkasila.

The next few days were incredibly difficult for the girls, lots of internal guilt, lots of questions why, what could have been done differently? The girls were going through the most difficult time of their lives up to this point. I made sure they had food, treats, space. I wanted to be comfort and a source of stability. Sometimes they didn't know what to do, so they did as I did and I kept moving forward with our daily routines.

As a parent, I reflect on this tragedy:

I needed to find a way to be present for my child but to allow her the space to grieve, to cry, to find it in herself to reach out to her friends when she needed a hug, to find it in herself to offer hugs when one is needed. I watched her find strength in herself when there seemed to be none. I saw her hold her friends as they cried, I saw her friends hold her as she cried.

My daughter experienced a loss too unbearable for even the strongest person, but she found solace and comfort in the circle of friends and family that formed a locked-arm hug around her and the youth of this community. Within the arms of that locked-arm hug, she could grieve, cry, forgive, laugh, remember and say goodbye.

Grief. How we grieve is a very personal experience, we are all different. No matter the process, we do move forward and life does go on for each of us. What we learn and take with us on our journey is unique.  Will we cry everytime we remember the dearly departed? Will we smile when we think of the dearly departed? And will we forever be more aware of the signs of suicide?

Today, my daughter's light-hearted laughter is back and life is beginning to move forward with this tragic experience behind her. And as a parent, the sound of her laughter and the twinkle in her eyes are what gives me faith, that through her darkest hour, she made it through. This tragedy was a time that I needed to let her discover the strong young woman who knows how to pray, how to cry, how to grieve, how to keep putting one foot in front of the other in difficult times, how to be strength to others so she can find strength in herself and most importantly how to laugh again.