Teaching kids about loss, the hard way

I'm back.  I just escorted my dad back to his home in Florida, where, with the aid of helpful neighbors, a medical alert system, and his doctors, I hope he stays stable for at least a month, after which he'll head up here to begin evaluations for a liver transplant.  More about that later.

I'm dreading the first day of school drop-off, where parents mill around on the blacktop, catching up.  "How was your summer?  Did you go anywhere?"  What do I say?  "I went to Florida for the first half to care for my dying parents.  Then I brought one of 'em back with me for the second half, which he spent a) in the hospital b) in doctors' offices and c) complaining about my cooking. Summer was swell!"

It was a tough summer for the kids, too.  Not just the weeks spent in Florida, which, except for two days at the beach and as many pool visits as we could muster, were pretty bland.  We live in a neighborhood that's crawling with kids, and every summer day is an orgy of grimy play; they missed that greatly while in Florida.  Then there was the trauma: They saw me leave with their grandpa in an ambulance, after seeing him prone and bloodied on the bathroom floor. They waited in 11 doctor/hospital waiting rooms. They've seen me so upset I could barely breathe.

Perhaps worse, I've been distracted and irritable for months now. I didn't realize how bad it had gotten until these past few days when I actually had a moment to take stock.  The worst was when I lashed out at one of the girls, who was begging endlessly for some toy or other.

I said -- yelled -- basically, "I've just had to take your grandfather to the hospital, again. And see this grapefruit-sized bruise on my leg?  That's from lifting your grandmother's wheelchair out of the car trunk. Do you have any idea what I have been through?  Can you leave me alone for just one minute?"

Ugly. Yeah. I know. Yet please believe me when I say that I truly could not take one more minute of the whining and begging.  And my girls are tweens, not five years old; I know just from what they read that they have been exposed to death and cruelty and other ugly human conditions. Still, I went too far.  The look on the kid's face after my rant was pure guilt, and horror. Before the summer I was worried that they had become too selfish, and now I fear that they've seen far more than they should have to.