My Daughter Died. How Do I Tell My Son? | NYT Opinion

By | February 16, 2020

My Daughter Died. How Do I Tell My Son? | NYT Opinion
My Daughter Died. How Do I Tell My Son? | NYT Opinion
In August, our son Harrison celebrated his third birthday he’s our second child and yet we’ve never parented a three-year-old before because Harrison has a older sister who never turned 3 and older sister he’ll never meet. For years ago, my daughter Greta was sitting on a bench on the upper west side of Manhattan with her grandma. What a brick fell from an 8-story windowsill and hit her in the head. She never regained Consciousness. She was too when Harrison was born.

15 months later. I became a father to both the living child and the spirit one child on this side of the curtain and another Whispering from beneath it. Greta became reference point for Harrison’s every move. We compared their sleep habits, their behavior on the playground, their first words and their first Tantrums, how they were different from each other and how they were similar, but only until Harrison was too now that he’s 3 we’re in Uncharted Territory. It is a Bittersweet thing watching him.

Reach Milestones that credit didn’t potty training took on the momentous feeling of an unknown country. Is sis never got that far sometimes watching Harrison grow, I’m reminded of how little will ever get to know about Greta Harrison’s person? What is a public fact? He smiles wider and cries louder than any other child in the neighborhood, but Greta Zone Tendencies & quarks remain only in her parents memories once she was a person in narwhal on the world. Now she is our lonely private fact.

When Harrison was a baby, we would tell him little things about Greta, Greta love. Bananas to Greta was a real pain about sleep, but he is older now and I’m more reluctant to say her name when he’s around it’s not gretta’s life. I want to keep Secret but how she died. A brick destroyed my first child and now I have to deliver the knowledge of that break. To my second, it will teach him lessons. I don’t want him to learn so I stall for time bargaining by superstitions about Curtis accident have died down.

I don’t cross this read anymore, to avoid passing through construction sites with him and the first time Harrison smacked his face on the jungle gym filling his mouth with blood. I stayed calm when he reached for me screaming Nissan, no fear in my eyes recently. He pointed to a picture of Greta on the refrigerator. That’S Harrison, he said: that’s Greta buddy, I said correcting him gently. That moment reminded me that some day before long, my wife and I will have to sit down and explain to him that he has a sister and a.

Why she’s not here. So I hold my breath and wait for the question. Sometimes we’d read it. Sometimes we yearn for it, but we are on his timetable: Greta lives inside Harrison somewhere murky and luminescent. He knows she was in person and that she’s not here, but that we love her very much and for now that’s enough.
How do you explain tragedy to a 3-year-old? Close to five years ago, Jayson Greene and his wife, Stacy, lost their 2-year-old daughter, Greta, to a horrible accident. Fifteen months later, their son, Harrison, was born. Now that Harrison is growing up, he wants to know about his older sister. In the animated video above, Mr. Greene struggles with how to introduce his son to Greta — even though they can never meet.

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