Learning from Loss
I spent my childhood, teens, and every adult decade except my twenties, taking care of young children. It’s my life’s purpose. And I have loved it, maybe not every single minute of it, but overall, how it continually shapes me as a human being and allows me to serve.
Even as a young child, when we played “house” in the basement, I was the mother. My doll was named after my baby brother, and I loved them both. I used a laundry basket for his crib. From early on, I knew working with children was a joy and a privilege.
Besides raising my children, teaching early childhood education, and writing books for parents, I founded and built the Rose Garden Early Childhood Center. I thought it was the pinnacle of my work with children and parents, that is, until I became a grandma. Surrounding myself with children has always provided me with a wellspring of joy, love, and connection which I now refer to as “grandma love”.
And when the Rose Garden Early Childhood Center died, I suffered the pain of losing something I loved dearly. It was a representative LifeWays site that I had founded, built to capacity, and converted into a worker-cooperative to support employees. In my opinion, LifeWays is the healthiest, most nurturing, and developmentally supportive model for early childhood education that I have known.
And it was within walking distance from my home! Knowing that it served local families gave me joy, solace, and hope for the future, but without employees bonded by a spirit of cooperation, it had to close last Spring.
And a chunk of my identity died with it – the part that was connected to the Center’s physical plant, my experience founding it, and ongoing relationships in the community connected to it. I grieved for myself, the parents, and the children. I grieved for my daughter who was one of the owners and for my grandchildren who absorbed the stress, acted out, and were not held by the program.
And I met a part of myself I had repressed for a very long time. When I opened to the depth of feeling triggered by the loss and released my attachment to the Center, the space within me expanded. Instead of filling it with work caring for children, families, and organizations that serve them, I stopped and listened within. When I am struggling to accept a change in the outer world, I know it is time to look inside.
My inner child was waking up and she demanded a voice. It was not the voice of the quiet, thoughtful, compliant little girl I had been, but the voice of one who refused to remain silent any longer. She was ready to break out of the “good girl” mode that entrapped her at an early age and speak her truth. It was time to integrate this aspect of my inner child, to practice letting go, and to grieve fearlessly.
In this moment of pause, I recognized my inner child’s view that something had gone wrong. Somehow, even though I had not been a part of operations at the Rose Garden for over five years, I felt the closing was my fault. I created something that did not survive. And my inner child wanted to find the golden nugget that would justify what had happened and relieve her guilt. But there was no rushing it, I had to first grieve the loss, let go of the past and future, and free my inner child.
Looking back at my childhood, I realize that I had felt responsible for the happiness of others, craved the ideal and blamed myself for what went wrong, even things that were outside of my control. It was time to forgive the inner child for failing to do what was not hers to do in the first place and free her from the burden of blame and self-criticism. It was not my fault that the Center had closed. And uncomfortable as it was, I had to experience the pain of loss without judging it.
Anger is a part of the grieving process and yes, my inner child was angry! I was taken aback by her demands for retribution. She had regrets about what happened and wanted to change both circumstances and others. Mostly, she wanted to feel better. Struggling to accept reality, she shook her fists and stamped her feet. I was tempted to stuff her back into the good girl box, but instead, I listened and felt her energy. There was strength and power in it, so I cleared some space for her to rise up and say her piece.
To do that, I had to quiet the inner critical voice and cheer on the loving parent. That parent had been there all along in my work with young children, but when it came to personal mistakes and losses, she hid behind a veil of shame, allowing the critical voice to lead. To drop the veil, I had to accept reality, admit I made mistakes, let go of my attachment to the Rose Garden and trust that things would work out.
Time to forgive myself for trying so hard to be good – even perfect – when I was a young child.
The inner loving parent began nurturing the inner child using words of kindness, acceptance, and love. She comforted and encouraged the child by letting her know her best is good enough. It’s enough that she loves children and does whatever she can to support families in any way she can. And the inner child responded by becoming more playful, joyous, and free.
I learned to accept messes, mistakes, and feelings (even anger) connected to loving fiercely, though grieving the loss of the Rose Garden. And to receive the precious gift of acceptance, trusting that after a storm, the sun comes out again.
Looking through the window, I see it peeking out from behind the clouds.
