In the first few weeks, everything felt unreal like I was moving through a haze that didn’t quite belong to me. But even in all that confusion, I knew one thing for certain: the kids needed stability. They needed something solid to hold onto when everything else had collapsed. And a routine was the only place I could start.
Jane was the primary parent so legally there wasn’t anything required other then to speak to social services, and let them know where the kids would be staying and with who. They provided bereavement services and that was it there was nothing further they could do to elevate the turmoil we was facing. The kids were safe and being cared for, so case closed.
I was speaking to Jane daily, keeping her updated while trying to reassure her that she needed to rest so she could be well for when the kids needed her the most. She was frustrated, angry, and felt utterly hopeless and unfortunately, I took the brunt of that. I never took her words to heart, but they still hurt. We often lash out at the people closest to us, but trying to balance everyone’s emotions while putting myself last was something I struggled with.
There wasn’t time for my own emotions, not then. Grief had to wait while I focused on keeping the world upright for them. I sat the kids down and talked honestly about what came next. I told them that if they wanted to stay with me, I would look after them without hesitation. It felt like the most natural decision. I’d already been supporting Peter and Jane, and this way the kids wouldn’t have to face yet another huge disruption. No new homes (initially), no new routines. Just familiarity. This would allow my sister and the kids time to process and eventually plan for their new future with my full support.
We went back to their house stood quietly out front at first and then slowly, step by step, we began building ourselves back up from there.
My work were incredible in those early days. Their support lifted so much weight off my shoulders, giving me the breathing space I needed to focus on the kids without worrying about everything else life was throwing our way.
Then came the funeral arrangements and nothing could have prepared us for how emotionally exhausting that would be. Peter didn’t have anything in place who does it happens to other people not us!! His sister stepped in and took on the responsibility, making decisions no sibling should ever have to make. I couldn’t begin to understand the depth of her pain, but I offered what I could: reassurance, a listening ear, and the comfort of knowing the kids were safe and cared for.
She also arranged for the hospital to put together a bereavement box for the children something thoughtful, something meant to help them start processing the unthinkable. Inside were two bears, one of which was placed with Peter so the kids would always feel that tiny connection between them. There were fingerprints of his hands on keychains, something they could hold onto physically when everything else felt so distant. A storybook about the death of a parent, forget-me-nots seeds, bereavement support information, and a card written especially for them. It was heartbreaking and beautiful all at once a reminder of both their loss and the care surrounding them.
But then came another blow.
We hadn’t been able to see Peter at the hospital, and in the weeks that followed we learned that we wouldn’t be able to view him in the chapel of rest either. Because it had all happened so suddenly, it took a couple of weeks before he was even at the funeral directors. All that time, the kids held onto hope not that seeing him would make things easier, but that it would make it real.
I never promised them anything, but we were told it would be possible and made an appointment. Then, one afternoon while I was at work, I got the dreaded call.
Another no.
Another door closed.
Another piece of reality we had to deliver to the kids who just needed one thing one moment to help them process what had happened.
It was another hit they didn’t deserve, another layer of heartbreak on top of everything they were already carrying.
Those weeks were wave after wave of shock, grief, and impossible decisions. But we kept going. We had to for them.