Families usually ask me this at the door, in a lowered voice, once the visit is over: “What do we tell the kids?”
Here is the first thing to know: the kids already know something is wrong. Children are small scientists of the adults around them. They’ve noticed that Grandma tells the same story twice, that she called Dad by his brother’s name, that the grown-ups go quiet in a particular way. And when nobody explains it, they write their own explanation — and a child’s explanation is usually worse than the truth. Some decide Grandma doesn’t like them anymore. Some decide it’s their fault.
So we explain. Plainly, the way we’d all like things explained to us. Three sentences do most of the work:
“Grandma has an illness in her brain. It makes her forget things and mix things up — it’s nobody’s fault, and you can’t catch it. She still loves you, even on days she can’t find your name.”
Use your own words; keep those three jobs — name it, clear them of blame, separate the love from the memory. That last part matters most, because it’s true in a way a child can use: love and memory are not kept in the same place. A grandchild’s name can go missing while the feeling of that grandchild often stays. Children who hear this stop auditioning to be recognized and just climb back onto the couch.
Making visits go better
Give them a job. Children do better with a role than with an agenda — put one in charge of the photo album, the cookies, or the music. Keep visits short and end them well: twenty minutes that finishes with a song beats two hours that finishes in tears. Answer questions when they come, plainly — including “Will she get better?” The honest version is kind: “No. But we can help her have lots of good days, and you’re part of that.” Let them say no to a visit sometimes; a no that gets respected today usually becomes a yes later. And let them laugh. Children laughing is not disrespect. It is often the best medicine in the room.
The permission slip
You’re allowed to let the kids see you sad. You don’t have to do all your grieving in the bathroom with the water running. A child who watches you cry, and then watches you be okay, learns that big feelings are survivable. That isn’t a burden on them. That’s an education.
From my kitchen table to yours,
The Dementia House Call