Elisabeth Egan (New York Times)
“But where did he go?”
“Can she see us?”
“Why didn’t Pop bring his glasses?”
Kids have questions about death, and we don’t always have answers. In fact, we rarely do; we have questions of our own!
If you have ever been at the intersection of loss and “How am I supposed to explain this to someone in footie pajamas?”, you know how overwhelming it can be.
“There are no words” might be all the rage in condolence cards, but there are words, and you can find them in these new picture books about grief. They aren’t the first ones to guide kids through the land of loss, but each of these stories has a depth and specificity that seem appropriate for a rising generation of readers who may not remember a time before social distancing.
As for you, the one holding the book: You, too, might find solace in these simple, colourful and, yes, occasionally humorous tales. The following books are organised according to the loss they cover:
Missing a Parent
A Walk in the Woods: If you’re trying to explain the inexplicable, or at least provide a glimmer of hope, “A Walk in the Woods” is an excellent place to start. A week after his father’s funeral, a young boy follows the route on a map his dad left behind. It leads to the woods they once explored together, and then to a trove of sketches and poems and a note: “This last page is for you, Son. Draw and write your story. I’ll always be watching.” Not only is the story wise and heartfelt, but it also comes with a moving back story: After Jerry Pinkney died, his son completed the illustrations. This team wrote and drew what they knew, and it shows.
Empty and Me – A Tale of Friendship and Loss:
A mother dies, and Empty – imagine the Pillsbury Dough Boy – takes her place. Empty accompanies a bereft daughter to school, towers over her while she eats a fried egg and tags along to an amusement park. The pair rescue a kitten together. They notice a flower blooming, the last one planted by the mother. Throughout the book, snippets of prose appear in English and Persian, and they are tiny in comparison with the elegant drawings. Slowly, the daughter gets used to the presence of her amiable, looming sidekick. She has no choice – and that, sadly, is the point.
Mouseboat: “The wind is your voice.” So begins Larissa Theule’s tale about a girl trying to make sense of the world without her mother. Nothing is the same. Her father buys the wrong laundry soap and prepares weird meals. Her mom’s chair is empty. One blustery night, the girl sneaks away in the boat they built together – and there, in the middle of a storm-tossed lake, she finds the courage she needs. Bravery might not be the goal for every reader, but the writer shows how glimmers of connection can appear when and where you least expect them.
Missing a SiblingWhere Did Benjamin Go?: The opening spread of this sensitively rendered story shows four hooks on a wall, labelled “Dad”, “Charlie”, “Ben” and “Mom”. Three of these hooks are laden with the usual front hallway flotsam: jackets, a bag, a hat. Ben’s is empty. Charlie, who appears to be around six years old, makes a list of everything he misses doing with his big brother: dolphin watching, snowflake catching, resting her head on his shoulder while he plays the piano. His parents miss Ben, too; they have their own lists. On the final page, the family gathers in a three-way hug, surrounded by memories of happier times. There is no solution or quick fix for them; nor is there one in real life. Instead, Clarkson and Barber offer a reminder: You are not alone.
Missing a Grandparent
I Wish I Could Tell You: If you are looking for Grandparent Loss 101, “I Wish I Could Tell You” is the book to grab. Its sweetly old-fashioned illustrations might give the impression that you have wandered into a fairy tale, but the story packs a timeless and gracefully executed emotional wallop. A fetching little fox visits his grandmother, who smells like herself but somehow isn’t the bonny pink-shawled companion of forest strolls past. Then the elder fox is gone.
On page after page, the creators show the absence she leaves behind, and the majesty of the river and trees the little fox learned to love while he was by her side. The juxtaposition of the two is both devastating and triumphant.
Maybe a Whale: Like the “Mouseboat” tale, the author Kirsten Pendreigh has chosen a nautical theme. A girl and her mother set out on a kayaking trip to see whales beloved by a recently departed grandfather, but the creatures prove elusive – until, late at night, the pair hear humpbacks breathing in the bay, and the sound soothes them to sleep. Not only will this story remind readers of the unpredictability of life (the best laid plans can lead somewhere surprising), it also shows how grief can be an equaliser. The mother is sad, too; the girl tells us she hasn’t laughed in a long time. And there they are, working together to set up their tent and cook noodles for dinner. It is a beautiful sight.
The Remembering Stone: When her grandfather dies, a little girl clings to a “perfect” rock he gave her when he was teaching her to skip stones. Unfortunately, during Show and Share, the girl’s classmates don’t appreciate its significance. (Who can compete with new boots or a baby cousin?) Carey Sookocheff’s calming story offers a powerful reminder about what we carry when we miss someone.
Helpful Metaphors
Grief Is An Elephant: You had be hard-pressed to find a story that states the facts as plainly as this one does, beginning with its title. In Smith’s telling, grief enters the world as an enormous beast and shrinks over time, from deer to fox to mouse to firefly. Try as her protagonist might, there is no way to speed up the process. Some will quibble with the linear approach – sorrow has a way of ballooning back to elephant proportions at the oddest times – but you can’t beat this mantra: “Remember and wonder. Remember and miss. Remember and love.”
The Swing: Britta Teckentrup’s simple meditation unfolds through pictures of a pair of swings overlooking the water.
For some, the swings are a place to fly; for others, they are a serene spot to be alone or say goodbye. No matter the circumstances, the view is a constant, and even when the swings are tangled together or buried in weeds their frame is solid. Teckentrup’s illustrations contain multitudes, as do our dearest relationships. If you are looking for a gift for a bereaved friend, “The Swing” is an excellent choice.
Cape: Before a funeral for someone he loved, a little boy gets a haircut and puts on a new suit. He also ties on a billowing red cape, believing it will protect him during one of the hardest days of his life. The boy isn’t slaying dragons or dueling with superheroes, but he guards his universe in a way that might be galvanising for a young person caught in the glare of public mourning. “Memories make my swallow hurt,” he tells us. “I block them with my cape.” The boy will revisit happy moments on his own time.
Rituals
Hamza Attends a Janaza: “Although I attended many funerals as a child, all I remember is people being upset,” Shabana Hussain writes at the start. Her gentle story shows Hamza’s much anticipated plan with his cousins being interrupted by the news that “Uncle Sameer with the sweet shop has died”. Hamza is not pleased, but then he remembers the red lollipop his uncle gave him during a visit. When his mother explains what will happen next – the prayers, the trip to a graveyard – the boy listens carefully. This book is geared toward Muslim children, but it contains a universal message about honour and respect.
My Friend, Loonie: Balloons are a recipe for heartache: They are going to pop, float away or deflate. LaCour puts this sad fact to good use in her vivid book about a latex orb that insinuates itself into a little girl’s world only to depart, bobbing briskly into the sky. Neighbourhood walks feel lonely; the mornings are quiet and gray. Eventually a yellow flower blooms in the yard, reminding the girl of “Loonie”, and things brighten again. Nothing gold can stay, of course, but beauty and friendship rebound.
Flora’s Wish: In Halliday’s vivid world, a mouse named Flora and a dandelion (called “Lion”) are the best of friends until, one day, Lion’s mane turns white and blows away; suddenly, he is gone. Flora is confused, then lonely and sad. A scarecrow helps Flora gather her courage and, when she finally emerges from his pocket, she’s delighted to find a field of young dandelions. She knows Lion sent them. This one will appeal to “Wizard of Oz” fans and anyone who needs a reminder that wishes come true in unexpected ways.