THE RABBIT LISTENED: Could We?

Whatever joyful thoughts and inspirations this time of year calls to mind for you (Passover? Resurrection? Spring bulbs? Longer days of sunlight?) I'd imagine that rabbits play some role in those thoughts. New births abound, tiny nests of bunnies are uncovered when gardening, and pint-sized, transparent-eared little buns nibble at grass or dandelions. Right? 

Store shelves abound with chocolate rabbits while comic strips feature parents biting the ears off the chocolate bunnies in their kids' Easter baskets. [Side survey: when you receive a chocolate rabbit, do you bite the ears off first? Feel free to confess in the comments!]

What does all this have to do with picture books? Well, I found an Easter card picturing three chocolate bunnies on the cover, and the middle one with missing its ears. The inside text said that two out of three rabbits HEARD it would be a wonderful Easter. It's a funny card and I was pleased to find it. After I mailed it, though, my thoughts followed a "rabbit hole" about missing ears and not hearing and relying on habits rather than thinking or listening in the moment.

DIAL BOOKS, 2018

That led me back to a book that I featured some years ago about dealing with grief, THE RABBIT LISTENED, written and illustrated by Cori Doerrfeld.  As the cover indicates, this is a story of comforting, with a focus on the power of listening. 

When the child's play-project collapses, they view it as a tragedy. Various efforts to "make it better" are offered by caring others. Adults will recognize themselves in the words of advice, familiar phrases that fail to recognize what is really needed. 

Examples are things we too often say to others in our lives; 

You can make another.

At least you've learned something.

You have other toys to play with.

or even the dreaded...

This is not such a big deal.

I didn't put quotes around the above lines because I paraphrased, writing the gist of what the text stated. Characters were reverting to past practice and patterns without pausing to see what was really needed.

Each seemed to have lost their "emotional ears", making assumptions or rushing in to reduce tension and pain. At times, though, quite often actually, what is most needed is simply someone to sit with us while we fully experiencel our pain. 

The rabbit does that. No words. No verbal reassurances. Simply being there, as near and as accepting as possible. As I wrote in a prior post, "...this little book offers a universe of wisdom. It opens with utterly appealing scenes, introducing a character, Taylor, about whom we instantly care."

"After failed attempts, Rabbit arrives. As the title says, Rabbit Listened, recognizing and absorbing Taylor's raw emotions. Rabbit's only role is to be present. To offer comfort without expectation or exit. Only then can Taylor (who could be a boy or a girl) try out various reactions, move through stages of grief, and work through the pain of loss until it is resolved. As comforting as this book may prove to be for young audiences, it should be considered an advanced course in human outreach for those of us with the "fixer" impulse."

Those missing rabbit ears on a seasonal card had me reflecting on the degree to which our larger society seems to operating on assumptions and default reactions. Not only in politics, but in technology-anxiety, environmental concerns, and more. So often I hear familiar phrases and reactions in conversation from entirely different people in a wide array of ages and settings. All seem calm and caring, but that edge of repetition concerns me. Many times such talk elicits some nods or "hmm" and the topic shifts. Perhaps we'd all do better in many circumstances to reflect back before offering even "safe" reactions or thoughts. 

For myself, I'm hoping to reflect back and listen more. "Tell me more about what you think" or "Tell us why you say that" or ??? What I want is to make myself THINK, and LISTEN, and be open to how others feel. I'm more convinced than ever that some of the most deeply-held opinions are actually a reflection of deeply felt tensions or worries or fears. Perhaps if I allow others to share some of that, I could simply listen. Perhaps it might ease their sense of isolation or fear of being attacked. I don't have to agree or disagree, just let them feel heard. 

At least I can try. And I plan to do so.

That is my plan for a new beginning to this season of growth and renewal.

May your own seasons be filled with listening.

Grief and Loss: Nobody Does it Better than PICTURE BOOKS

 

TUNDRA BOOKS, 2022

Grief may not be continuous but is ubiquitous, a universal human experience at any age. Here's a story that takes every reader into the heart of loss and offers both empathy and a hopeful hand of comfort. RODNEY WAS A TORTOISE is written by Nan Forler and illustrated by Yong Ling Kang.

This particular story of the death of a nonhuman friend uses possibly the least likely critter as the pet who passes. Rodney a tortoise has outlived generations of Bernadette's family, is a constant companion whose ways are seen as fully compatible with friendship, and reveals his personality and affection in the most subtle of ways. Ways, though, that young Bernadette recognizes, appreciates, and embraces in her daily life and within her circle of family and friends.

The first pages of the story reveal all of the above and also allows the reader to develop a sense of connection, even affection, for Bernadette's "old pal" Rodney. When Rodney's slow style becomes evidently NO movement at all, Bernadette hopes that Rodney's "joker" style might mean he was simply holding his breath. She and her family come to terms with his passing with a family burial ceremony, near the lettuce patch, and by remembering the things Rodney had taught them:

"Be a pal. Slow down. Chew your food. Enjoy each piece of lettuce." 

Bernadette sings a goodbye song.

Some picture books about grief end there, providing a useful model for those heartbreaking goodbyes and inevitable losses.

But not this book. Things get quite a bit worse before they get better (hang in, please). Bernadette finds that her friends at school have nothing whatsoever to say about her loss. Despite having met Rodney at bring-a-pet-to-school day, they are quickly preoccupied with their own news and issues. Within their silence and busy-ness, Bernadette slips deeper and deeper into her own turtleneck and hoodie, isolating herself at recess time in a shell of sorrow. Eventually a classmate, Amar, climbs into her cloud of grief and asks about her sadness, sharing a single line about his own lost pet, then allowing time and space to just be there. 

This last stage of the process of gradual recovery and restoration of small joys in life is far less frequently explored in books dealing with grief. This offers so much realistic, eventual hope and resolution that it's a must-have title for those providing suggested "grief" picture books.

Another title that remains among my most often recommended was reviewed HERE, THE RABBIT LISTENED. Other titles addressing this topic are featured HERE, and HERE, and HERE. There are many other picture books that explore this fraught aspect of life, especially for young people. I suggest making a list and taking a look now, before life deals someone you love an experience for which there are so few answers or comports, other than time. There's no reason to imagine that a picture book will "fix" anything in such times of struggle, but they can, in fact, reflect and reassure, engage and even entertain. 

Suddenly- Grief and Loss

On past Memorial Day weekends I've shared thoughts on that subject and recommended various titles in previous posts, here, here, and here (and more). I linked those to reassure myself that I'm not neglecting the important topic of veterans lost to us in service by veering to a more general theme in this post. 
It's not as if I haven't written about death and loss and picture books in the past. Just enter  death or grief in the search box on the right and you'll find some of the many books I've recommended on this topic. In each case, though, I've found the books first and shared my reactions and recommendations for various uses.

This post, however, is a response to a specific situation, a heartbreaking loss that left me, and I suspect everyone else involved, feeling helpless. I often have to bite my tongue when faced with loss or tragedy, desperately grasping for something, anything, to offer those suffering some tangible relief beyond my sympathy. This is exponentially more true when the grief involves children. The older I get the more aware I am of how grossly inadequate and even inappropriate that impulse is. 

Dial Books for Young Readers, 2019

A recently released picture book makes this point more brilliantly and beautifully than I can. THE RABBIT LISTENED is written and illustrated by Cori Doeerrfeld. 
This little book offers a universe of wisdom. It opens with utterly appealing scenes, introducing a character, Taylor, about whom we instantly care. 
Then trouble swoops in: sudden,  shocking, irrational. Taylor is rightly dismayed. 
The author/illustrator's use of caring, well-meaning, and slightly absurd animal interveners highlights the fact that each portrays a "fixer" approach- giving advice that wasn't sought. Even though the effort is sincere and the suggestions are generally textbook-smart, there is little or no effort to "read" the child and realize that time and circumstances make their well-meaning offers, well, meaningless.
Then Rabbit arrives. As the title says, Rabbit Listened, recognizing and absorbing Taylor's raw emotions. Rabbit's only role is to be present. To offer comfort without expectation or exit. Only then can Taylor (who could be a boy or a girl) try out various reactions, move through stages of grief, and work through the pain of loss until it is resolved. As comforting as this book may prove to be for young audiences, it should be considered an advanced course in human outreach for those of us with the "fixer" impulse.

While respecting the privacy of the family involved, I'll share the circumstances that prompted this post. It involved the recent sudden death of a bright and kind young man. He was the husband of a woman I've known since she and her sister were in elementary school, girls who had cookies and cocoa at my table and helped me open up my classrooms in each fall. Now that little girl I knew has grown to be this young woman. She and her husband are both young professionals, parents of an incredibly bright and sweet five-year-old girl. That former little girl and her own daughter now face the daily reality of drastically altered lives, shifting dreams, and an achingly deep absence in their futures. 
My fixer impulse surfaced in full force, but with an absolute awareness that nothing "fixes" this situation. Nothing can, nothing will. 
That's when I remembered this picture book. I also checked for other titles at CHILDREN'S BOOKS HEAL, a blog by Patricia Tilton and  BOOKS THAT HEAL KIDS,  a blog by Roxanne. I turned to the power of picture books based on the way they can act as the rabbit: to be there, to be present and available, waiting to listen and share the child's grief  whenever and however they are able to express it. 

Star Bright Books, 2013

Those and other searches led to two more very specific titles. These may help now or wait in the wings for several months, or more. The first is ALWAYS BY MY SIDE, written by Susan Kerner and illustrated by Ian P. Benfold Haywood. The simple but lyrical text inspires lovely examples of the ways in which young children can turn to happy memories and moments of comfort to feel the presence of a daddy who has died. The story was inspired by the author's own experience in being the widowed mother of a young child while pregnant with another. This is the book she hoped to find. GEEKDAD blog presents an interview with the author. An added benefit of this book is the diversity of the characters, settings, and supporting cast which emphasizes the universality of the situation and the human responses. 

Magination Press 2007

Another book that could be useful as the months pass is SAMANTHA JANE'S MISSING SMILE: A Story About Coping with the Loss of a Parent, written by Julie Kaplow and Donna Pincus, illustrated by Beth Spiegel. This story, written by two professionals in the field of grief and anxiety in youth, tenderly explores and supports young Sarah Jane as she resumes her "new normal" life after the death of a parent, in particular helping her to accept moments of happiness, even laughter. The story reminds Sarah Jane that, as she recovers a full range of emotions, she can experience happiness without feeling guilty or worrying that it means she is forgetting her parent. 
The story directly addresses these questions but is kid-friendly. Back pages provide additional professional advice to surviving parents supporting a child through such a loss. Magination Press is a publisher curated by the American Psychological Association with a long track record for topic-specific titles that have helped countless children and families. 

Now, back to the Memorial Day question. I grew up at a time when veterans were lost to war,  but those were wars that lasted five to seven years. Even so, they produced a nightmare of losses and family grief. Our current war(s) has extended nearly two decades. For many of the white crosses and  fluttering flags there are young children feeling that loss, whether raw and new or achingly present after many years. Whatever the reason that young people are left dealing with the death of a parent, there are ways to support the grieving and dealing process. Books can help.
But, above all, remember the rabbit:  Be present. Listen.