children and grief Archives

Matthew Thompson used the pen name B.R. Duray as an homage to his father.

L.A.-based writer, director, executive producer and filmmaker Matthew Thompson shares the inspiration behind his debut children’s book, “The Mood Swing,” tips for navigating grief for both parents and kids and L.A. resources for families navigating loss.

Tell us a little bit about your journey from filmmaker to children’s book author.
I’ve been a filmmaker for over a decade, telling stories that explore the big questions of life. After my father passed away when I was 10, I carried that loss with me, and eventually it became the inspiration for “The Mood Swing.” Writing a children’s book felt like the most natural way to honor that experience and offer kids a story that could help them feel less alone in their own big emotions. It’s really an extension of my storytelling—just in a new medium.

Your debut book “The Mood Swing” was inspired by the loss of your father at a young age. Is there anything you wish an adult said or did during that time in your life?

I am so grateful to have a community of friends and family that guided me through the grief process, they really healed my heart. I think the major thing going on in my head that was difficult to explain for others was the newness of the emotions. I didn’t know the grief would ever go away or the intensity of the ups and downs. As you get older, you learn that they come and go and nothing is final. Things do get better with time, but as a child you don’t know that yet, so it all feels so much scarier and never-ending. It would have maybe saved some heartache if somehow I knew: “this too shall pass.”

What are some ways parents and caregivers can help kids process loss?

One of the most powerful things you can do is create space for kids to talk without trying to fix their feelings. Stories are a great way to do this. Stories can create adventures to explore new emotions and talk about difficult subjects. Simple rituals, like lighting a candle together or talking about the person who’s gone, also give kids a safe way to express themselves and keep the memory of a loved one alive. I created a new relationship with my father after he passed, one that I continue to build and foster today.

Sometimes well-meaning adults can say or do the wrong thing even if they’re trying to help. What should we not do when supporting children who are navigating grief?
We shouldn’t minimize their feelings or underestimate children. Kids pick up on more than we realize, and shutting down their emotions can make them feel isolated, just like talking down to them can. I think kids feel way more than they’re given credit for, even if they can’t vocalize it. It’s better to meet them where they are, even if it means sitting quietly in their sadness with them. I think it’s important as adults to teach the balance of when to be gentle, and when to encourage resilience and strength. Both are essential for healing and growth.

If both child and parent are grieving, how can you support your kid while also making sure to take care of yourself?
Just like you have to secure your own oxygen mask on an airplane in an emergency before your child, you have to deal with your own grief in a healthy way so you are strong enough for your child, and don’t inadvertently hurt them further by your own pain. If a parent is unstable and not addressing their grief in a healthy way, it will be impossible to be as strong and resilient as necessary to be there for your child. I think children need to believe the other parent is strong, grounded and someone to always lean on during a time of crisis. This involves a superhuman level of commitment and sacrifice, but I think when it comes to loss, the surviving parent simply has to find a way to rise. Leaning on community—friends, family or counselors—is a great first step, but create the support system you need so you don’t end up leaning on your child. My mother’s strength and sturdiness during the loss of my father was the single most important thing that helped my sister and I make it through.

Are there any L.A. resources you’d recommend for parents or children navigating loss?
Our community has some incredible resources, like Our House Grief Support Center, which specializes in helping children and families navigate loss. The Dougy Center also offers excellent tools online that families in L.A. can use. And even simple connections—like local grief support groups or faith communities—can be a lifeline during hard times.

Kobe Bryant memorial — Managing Editor Cassandra Lane, her son and one of his friends joined thousands of people memorializing Kobe Bryant, his daughter Gianna and the seven other helicopter crash victims.

To be a parent is to want to give our children the world. We hope to protect their innocence as long as we can, to shield them from bullies and bad news, even though we know that “the world” holds as much pain as it does joy, and that our arms are not long enough, our good intentions not strong enough to cocoon our babies – big and small – from this reality.

A reality like death.

On Jan. 25, my 12-year-old son, Sol, attended his first funeral. We flew from L.A. to DeRidder, La., to help lay my Uncle Junior to rest. I regretted that the funeral would be Sol’s first introduction to this man who had such a profound impact on my family when I was growing up. Still, I sensed that it was important for him to attend the memorial because I knew that in addition to mourning, there would be great songs of praise, more hugs than we could count and recollections of the positive contributions Uncle Junior had made.

Sol squeezed my hand as we passed the open casket and, for a moment, I doubted my decision to bring him.

After the burial, we gathered in family members’ houses. We sang, played guitar, peeled crawfish and enjoyed a cousin’s gumbo. We hung onto each other’s words, leaning in close. I watched my son grinning from ear to ear as relatives he’d never met took him under their wings. I had made the right decision.

The next morning, the day before we were scheduled to fly back to L.A., I received a text bearing tragic news: A helicopter carrying Kobe Bryant, his daughter Gianna and seven others had crashed in Calabasas, just five miles from the L.A. Parent office.

“Oh nooooooo,” we texted, posted, howled, whispered. While waiting for our flight the next day, Sol and I read the articles (“All of L.A. is lit up in purple and gold”), and our eyes and hearts burned for our city. Sol grabbed my hand again, this time just before takeoff. “We should pray, Mommy,” he said, and we did.

When we arrived at LAX that night, its iconic columns flashed purple and gold. “It’s surreal,” my son said. “You just felt like you knew Kobe. He’s who I would think of whenever I try to make a shot. And to know Gigi was on there …” his voice trailed off.

“And all the other people,” I added. They were John, Keri and Alyssa Altobelli; Christina Mauser; Payton and Sarah Chester and Ara Zobayan.

Throughout the week, we kept reading – social media posts, articles – until one evening Sol said, “I have to stop the mourning for a while, Mom. I liked what Magic said in his video about all the good moments with Kobe.” And so, I followed his lead. We focused on Bryant’s film “Dear Basketball” and testimonies of all of the passengers’ passions and work ethic.

The following Sunday, we joined thousands of others paying their respects at Staples Center, where all of L.A. Live was awash in purple and gold flower bouquets and balloons, T-shirts, hats and hoodies memorializing Bryant and Gigi, chalked art, teddy bears, blankets, live artwork and handwritten prayers for the victims’ families on makeshift murals. I watched my son and his friend Eli take in the outpouring of quiet grief and love – and process their own.

Couples and friends leaned into each other. Little kids perched on dads’ shoulders. It was clear that this public memorial was personal – an attempt to honor the victims, to comfort the survivors, to spend precious time with our own loved ones.

Eli added a T-shirt he’d bought to one of the memorials. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep it for yourself?” I asked him.

“No,” he said, glancing around. “I hope his family gets some of this.”

We would give our children only the best of the world if we could. But this is as impossible as immortality. And in the midst of this hard and humbling reality, our children learn to give of themselves.

A public service for Kobe and Gianna Bryant will be held at Staples Center Feb. 24.

Spotlight on Matthew Thompson: Filmmaker Turned Children’s Author Tackles Grief with “The Mood Swing”

On Grief, Public Memorials and Our Children

L.A. Parent