 | What if I told you that one day, very soon, your child would stop having meltdowns all together. Not only that, but they would also stop making a mess in the house, stop teasing their brother, stop whining for sweets in the supermarket, stop treading muddy footprints through the house, stop back-chatting you, stop refusing to go to school, stop waking you up when they have nightmares in the early hours of the morning and stop feeding their veggies to the dog under the table. Sounds like bliss, right?! |
But what if I told you that all of these things would stop because your child had died.
That changes everything. Now before you come at me for being completely morbid and depressing and yes, you can touch wood if you feel the need, but hear me out…
One month, in the not too distant past, I thought my daughter was going to die. She was very ill for a long time and had reached the point where she couldn't get up and down the stairs without help, wasn't eating, was weak and listless and had literally lost the will to live. I thought we were reaching the end. And there was a moment where I really let that sink in. Instead of denying it and trying to run from it and pretending that everything was definitely going to work out, I allowed my mind to go there. What if she didn't make it. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it now, but that thought changed everything.
Thankfully, she recovered, but that experience permanently altered my perspective. What I wouldn't give to have one more day of meltdowns and dirty feet and noise and chaos and whining and sibling fights and snarky remarks. That moment made me appreciate, deeply and truly appreciate, the gift of an ordinary day, and even the gift of an ordinary meltdown. We try so hard as parents to push our kids along, we say we can't wait for the day they are out of nappies / sleeping through the night / start maturing and stop having tantrums / learn to do things for themselves / etc. For most of us that day will come and we'll forget to be grateful when it does and instead will go on to wish for some other moment that will 'make us happy'. For some, that time will never come and deep regret will fill the gaps where the noise and chaos used to be.
The truth is, there is usually not much we can do about our children surviving or not. We don't control the future, no matter how much we persuade ourselves we do. Tragedy happens. Life happens. One day, whether through death or simply growing up, our homes will be empty of little people and their grubby paws and their big emotions and we'll miss the very things we complain about now. And to those parents who have already experienced this devastating loss, my heart aches with yours – you understand this truth more deeply than most of us ever will.
Stoic philosophers have always talked about contemplating death as a very important part of living a good life. The assumption that we have another day, another moment, another year makes us shut down to the only thing we have for certain – this moment. And if this moment contains a meltdown, well, so be it. It is possible to appreciate the meltdown in the moment – to see it for the gift that it is – a crying, screaming, hitting, but very much beautifully alive little human being in need of our love and presence. Be here now. Love the gift of this moment, whatever it brings.
Now, when my children have meltdowns or make messes, I still feel frustrated sometimes – I'm only human after all. But I try to pause and remember that dark time when I would have given anything to hear their voices, even raised in anger. It helps me breathe deeper, love harder, and appreciate these chaotic moments for what they truly are: signs of vibrant, messy, beautiful life.
That changes everything. Now before you come at me for being completely morbid and depressing and yes, you can touch wood if you feel the need, but hear me out…
One month, in the not too distant past, I thought my daughter was going to die. She was very ill for a long time and had reached the point where she couldn't get up and down the stairs without help, wasn't eating, was weak and listless and had literally lost the will to live. I thought we were reaching the end. And there was a moment where I really let that sink in. Instead of denying it and trying to run from it and pretending that everything was definitely going to work out, I allowed my mind to go there. What if she didn't make it. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it now, but that thought changed everything.
Thankfully, she recovered, but that experience permanently altered my perspective. What I wouldn't give to have one more day of meltdowns and dirty feet and noise and chaos and whining and sibling fights and snarky remarks. That moment made me appreciate, deeply and truly appreciate, the gift of an ordinary day, and even the gift of an ordinary meltdown. We try so hard as parents to push our kids along, we say we can't wait for the day they are out of nappies / sleeping through the night / start maturing and stop having tantrums / learn to do things for themselves / etc. For most of us that day will come and we'll forget to be grateful when it does and instead will go on to wish for some other moment that will 'make us happy'. For some, that time will never come and deep regret will fill the gaps where the noise and chaos used to be.
The truth is, there is usually not much we can do about our children surviving or not. We don't control the future, no matter how much we persuade ourselves we do. Tragedy happens. Life happens. One day, whether through death or simply growing up, our homes will be empty of little people and their grubby paws and their big emotions and we'll miss the very things we complain about now. And to those parents who have already experienced this devastating loss, my heart aches with yours – you understand this truth more deeply than most of us ever will.
Stoic philosophers have always talked about contemplating death as a very important part of living a good life. The assumption that we have another day, another moment, another year makes us shut down to the only thing we have for certain – this moment. And if this moment contains a meltdown, well, so be it. It is possible to appreciate the meltdown in the moment – to see it for the gift that it is – a crying, screaming, hitting, but very much beautifully alive little human being in need of our love and presence. Be here now. Love the gift of this moment, whatever it brings.
Now, when my children have meltdowns or make messes, I still feel frustrated sometimes – I'm only human after all. But I try to pause and remember that dark time when I would have given anything to hear their voices, even raised in anger. It helps me breathe deeper, love harder, and appreciate these chaotic moments for what they truly are: signs of vibrant, messy, beautiful life.
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