Cleo has been translated into over 16 languages and has sold more than two million copies, clearly touching many people around the world - and the children's version is equally as powerful.
Helen and I met when she and her family moved into the house across the street about twenty years ago - after Sam and before Jaz and George had died. Here's what I had to say on why this seemingly regular children's book is in fact, so important.
Helen and I share a special bond – we’re part of the club
that no family wants to belong to – those that have lost children. There isn't a name for this status – for the mothers, the fathers, the sibling, grandparents,
cousins.
People are uncomfortable with death. And the more we avoid
talking about it, the longer it stays shrouded, buried and feared. It’s not
just our fear of death itself, but the fear of making other people
uncomfortable, that prevents us from sharing our stories.
Most people know someone who’s lost a loved one, and yet
social norms force us to quickly skate over the surface with impersonal
platitudes like ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or ‘Terrible news about John.’ While
these acknowledgments are well-intended and often appreciated, they don’t
really help
Put another way, we have a group of people who’ve
experienced the death of someone close, fearful of upsetting those around them
by talking about it. And the people around them are fearful of bringing the topic
up because they don’t want to upset the person who’s grieving. And that’s just
not helpful.
We need to find a way to bridge this gap.
If you were building a house, organising a party or even
having a baby - you’d have a bank of other people’s experiences that had been
shared over the years to draw on. And you probably wouldn’t hesitate to phone
a friend to better prepare yourself for what’s ahead.
It’s through these shared experiences, of all facets of
life, that we learn to cope and accept and feel connected.
*******
Death might be the penultimate unmentionable, but the death
of a child is the ultimate. There’s no conciliatory ‘At least they had a
great innings’ – because they didn’t. It just doesn’t follow the expected rules
of nature – the Lion King’s circle of life, if you will.
But like Helen, I do tell people about my children. Not all
the time and not every time, but if asked how many children I have and the mood
takes me, I’ll spill the beans. I’ve had people shocked into silence, a
heart-felt acknowledgment and even been thanked for sharing.
And if adults have trouble talking about death, imagine how
that mystery is translated by children.
Death is a fact of life, and it can happen at any age. But
we don’t tell children that. Of course, we hope it doesn’t happen that way, but
it might.
If the concept of death is introduced at an early age,
discussed in a matter-of-fact tone on regular, relevant occasions,
understanding and familiarity replace fear and mystery. As part of this
conversation, it’s important to convey that if and when a death occurs, that
life goes on. It’s not the same life, it is irrevocably changed – but in time,
there will be joy and happiness, laughter… and even cats!
It’s exactly this important story that Helen has tenderly
captured in her new book, Cleo & Rob. She hasn’t shied away from the depths
of sadness surrounding Sam’s death but thoughtfully stepped through the
process we go through when someone dies. The disbelieve, anxiety, isolation
and withdrawal, before the re-emergence and reconnection, all seen through the
eyes of her younger son, Rob. Beautifully illustrated by Phoebe, it’s a very important story to
tell.
My hope is that this book will not only introduce children
to the concept of death, grief and recovery but that it will spark the
conversation in families and among friends. We need to be able to tell our stories
without the fear of upsetting someone, to learn to listen and come to terms
with death – even that of a child.
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| Author Helen Brown (right) with illustrator, Phoebe Morris |
Cleo & Rob is available at many bookstores, on and offline, including Amazon
