Thinking back to organising Mam and Dad’s funerals, I remember how tough it
was—and there were five of us to lean on
each other. I honestly can’t imagine how much more difficult it must be for an
only child.
That’s where extended family steps in.
Today, I took my cousin’s eight-year-old
daughter off for the afternoon so her parents could finalise arrangements for
Angela’s funeral. What was needed, clearly, was a proper girly day.
First stop:
a bit of shoe shopping (because obviously, priorities).
Next: a good long browse around
Fagan’s toy shop.
Final stop: the cinema to see Lilo and Stitch.
As it was an early afternoon screening, we had
the entire cinema to ourselves—like our own private showing. The film was
hilarious and heartwarming… until the last 15 minutes.
And then: SPOILER ALERT.
Why was there no warning that Stitch dies?! I could feel it coming,
but not in time to stage a distraction. All I could think was: We’re here to gently take her mind off the fact
that her Granny just died… and now we’re watching an alien’s heartbreaking
final moments?!
Thankfully, through the miracle of CGI and
jump leads, Stitch came back to life. But there was a jarring moment. Only that
morning, her parents had gently explained that Granny had gone to Heaven and
couldn’t come back. And now—bam—resurrection via motor vehicle.
It made me think of something from my PDST
drama training:
Drama helps
children explore complex feelings at a distance, in a safe space.
Maybe this unexpected twist was exactly that—a
safe way to engage with grief, without it being directly about Granny,.
On the way home, we had a good chat. I didn’t raise the film’s ending, but I
gently opened the door for her to bring it up. She didn’t dwell on the sad
part—instead, she talked about all the funny, irreverent things Stitch had
done.
So maybe the movie wasn’t the wrong choice
after all.
I did warn her parents there might be some… unusual questions tonight
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