This speech was delivered by Emi Larsen-White at The Children’s Room’s Circle of Hope Breakfast 2023.
My name is Emi. I am the mom to 3 boys – Kai, Ren, and Otto. I am the step-mom to 2 girls – Evie and Alex. I am the dog mom to Murray. I am the” new-ish” bride to my husband, Eli, the widow of my first husband, and the father of my boys, Peik. He would tell you to pronounce his name: Peik, like Cake with a P. It is because of the loss of Peik that my boys, Kai and Ren, and I found our way to The Children’s Room.
Peik died suddenly on July 23, 2014, when he was 42.
The night before, I had worked the overnight shift as a nurse. When I came home that morning, Peik had been sick all night. After getting Kai and Ren off to camp, I slept in the boys’ room. Before going to bed, I told Peik I was sure he would feel better once he rested more. But that afternoon, when I woke up, I found him. He had died while I was sleeping in the next room. I called 911 and watched as the firefighters and police officers walked out of our bedroom and shook their heads. Peik was gone.
Someone asked me who they should call, but all I could respond with was, “I’m pregnant.” Peik and I had found out the day before that I was expecting our third child. After the flurry of activity in our apartment had calmed down. I needed to go and tell Kai and Ren. They were only four years old. How on earth do you explain this to a 4-year-old? I sat on the front steps of my mom’s house while my mother-in-law, Pam, Googled, “How to tell your kids their dad is dead?” She read to me:
- Be honest.
- Be clear and concrete – death is final.
- Tell them that people tried to help him, but his body stopped working.
Once we had figured out my lines, I headed in to see the boys. I remember walking up the stairs and finding Kai and Ren in my mom’s bedroom. It was the most painful moment, looking at them before their world would change. I told them, “I need to tell you something important.” Kai responded: “Are we going to the pool? ” “No, please listen,” I said. “Daddy got so so so so so sick.” Kai and Ren answered, “Yes, we know. We went into your room and snuck bubble gum from his pocket.” “That’s okay .”I said, “But I need to tell you that Daddy has died.” “He was so so so so so sick, and his body stopped working. The policemen and firefighters tried to help him. But he is dead”. Ren’s eyes filled with tears, and he sank into the corner of the bed. Kai looked puzzled and responded: “Like that bird, we saw on the ground.” “Yes, like the bird. He has died. I am so sorry”.
In the early weeks after Peik’s death, we were flooded by the generosity of our incredible village. Many of our villagers are here today: sweet treats, hugs, loving words about Peik and our family, and encouragement for our new journey. And from many corners of our village, we heard the same message – “You should go to the Children’s Room.” “Give them a call.” “It’s an incredible place.”
I had very little interest in making that call. But after some time (with gentle encouragement), I called The Children’s Room. They had a Parenting While Grieving class starting a few weeks away with room for me. The first time I climbed the stairs to the third floor of the big yellow house in Arlington, I didn’t know what I would find. But there was a warmth that was palpable and a feeling of welcoming.
I could barely find my words when I introduced myself to the circle of grieving parents. “My name is Emi. My husband Peik died in July. I have twin boys, Kai and Ren, who are 4 (almost 5), and I am pregnant with another baby. Almost three months along.” It was so painful to speak those words out loud and for all of this to be true. But then, another parent started their introduction and shared their pain and heartbreak. It wasn’t the same as mine but a deep, devastating loss. We all were together in the openness of this space, feeling our collective sense of grief and longing.
Over the weeks that I attended that group, I cried and laughed. And I started to learn how to navigate the world of grief. We’d strategize where to cry without kids noticing – agreeing that calling in the car or showering was the best place.
The first time I took Kai and Ren to the Children’s Room was for an open house – there was potentially a spot for us, and this was their introduction to the space and the community. I sat on the floor in the “littles” room with Kai and Ren wrapped tightly around me. As the group leader started, they said, “Everyone here has something in common. Everyone here has had someone they love die”. Kai and Ren immediately looked up at me, surprised. Their eyes were wide as if asking – “did you know this?”
But as we moved through their activity, they loosened their grip around me. They started exploring the room when the parents were asked to head upstairs. The boys gave me sweet waves and let me go. We joined the parent loss group on Thursday Nights.
Every other week we would head to the yellow house. Laurie would stand at the bottom of the stairs to hold off the gaggle of 4 and 5-year-old boys before letting them – race *(though she always asked for walking feet)- up to their room. Our parent group was above the High Energy room (which is a padded room with a punching bag and pool noodles). We could feel the house shake as they headed into their favorite spot. As parents, we would be mid-sentence, mid-cry, or rant, and then, we would hear our kids laugh or yelp as they played, bringing us back to them. In the closing circle, our kids would come up the stairs to join us, carrying scream boxes (a favorite of my boys) or another creation. We would attempt to get them to settle into the closing circle but also adore their playfulness and the sense of childhood. We first introduced ourselves as our new family unit in the Children’s Room- Kai, Ren, me, and my growing baby belly. The Children’s Room was a safe space to try out this new identity, grow into what that felt like, and build our confidence.
The “outside world” can sometimes be overwhelming when you are a grieving widow and family. There can be a lot of eyes on you. Kind, loving, well-meaning eyes, but eyes and expectations nonetheless. Curiosity about your well-being. You must be sad. You must be tired. You must need so much help.
A few weeks after Peik died, I got the best advice on how to manage the “outside world” expectations of me in my role as a pregnant- widow- mother. It came from a family member who had lost her husband when her four children were younger. She wrote to me and said, “lipstick and sunglasses” – the idea is that when you look great, the “outside world” will give you more space. “Lipstick and sunglasses” protect you more as you navigate your journey through grief. At The Children’s Room, you are offered a place where you are free to peel back the “lipstick and sunglasses” and just be. You are welcome. You are seen for who you are and where you are. There is an understanding that grief looks different for everyone and can be different, depending on the day. Today I cried all day. Today I watched Netflix and shopped online. Today I didn’t think about my loss once. Today I pulled the “widow card” and got animal control to handle the squirrel problem.
Otto arrived on March 27, 2015 – he was beautiful. We fell madly in love! He expanded our hearts and filled us with pure joy. His arrival offered us a new focus and new love.
We said goodbye to The Children’s Room in June of 2018. Kai and Ren were ready. They were being pulled to the little league field – they had an undefeated minor league season that year (and would go on to win the major’s cup). We all felt more comfortable moving outside of our little bubble of 4. For me, I was ready too. I knew that there was another family at the start of this painful journey of loss that needed The Children’s Room more than us. There was another family who needed to gain and build their strength within the loving warmth of this yellow house. Despite feeling ready to say goodbye, the night we had our last closing circle, I was overwhelmed by my sadness. I felt deep gratitude and appreciation for the opportunity – I still do. But just like all big moments of change, I worried. Would we be okay if we didn’t have this community to come back to every other week? Did we have enough courage for the next part of our journey? Yes, we would be okay. Yes, we had lots of courage!
We gathered all of our shared moments, all of our reflections and understanding. We gathered our scream boxes, and we said goodbye. Our grief and loss of Peik will never go away. But we have a full, busy, wonderfully loving life, even with our loss. We carry it differently. We carry Peik with us on our adventures and on the BIG life moments, but we can also live those moments happily and without burden.
Thank you so much for the opportunity to share my story with you this morning and for your continued support of The Children’s Room and of families just like mine.
