Gaby

The Pencil Box
By Doris Sanford

I was deep in thought at my office, preparing a lecture to be given that evening at a college across town, when the phone rang. A woman I had never met introducedherself and said that she was the mother of a seven-year-old and that she was dying. She said that her therapist had advised her that discussing her pending death with her son would be tootraumatic for him, but somehow that didn't feel right to her.

Knowing that I worked with grieving children, she asked my advice. I told her that our heart is often smarter than our brain and that Ithought she knew what would be best for her son. I also invited her to attend the lecture that night since I was speaking about how children cope with death. She said she would be there.

I wonderedlater if I would recognize her at the lecture, but my question was answered when I saw a frail woman being halfcarried into the room by two adults. I talked about the fact that children usually sensethe truth long before they are told and that
they often wait until they feel adults are ready to talk about it before sharing their concerns and questions. I said that children usually can handletruth better than denial, even though the denial is intended to protect them from pain. I said that respecting
children meant including them in the family sadness, not shutting them out.

She hadheard enough. At the break, she hobbled to the podium and through her tears she said, "I knew it in my heart. I just knew I should tell him." She said that she would tell him that night. The nextmorning I received another phone call from her. She could hardly talk, but I managed to hear the story through her
choked voice. She had awakened him when they got home the night before and quietlysaid, "Derek, I have something to tell you."
He quickly interrupted her, saying, "Oh, Mommy, is it now that you are going to tell me that you are dying?" She held him close, and they both sobbed while...