Talking to children about loss and legacy

The living room was unusually quiet. The television flickered between images of flags at half-mast, government VIPs’ cars flags being removed, and the familiar face that had appeared on our screens for decades.

Then came the question that caught Gladys and Eliud Ndiema’s, parents to nine-year-old Tom Ndiema, off guard. “Mum, why is everyone crying on TV?”

It was a question that needed an answer. Not about politics, but about life, love, and loss. Across the country, from living rooms to school compounds, children were asking the same thing.

For them, the man on the screen was not a politician; he was part of Kenya’s story – a constant in the background of family conversations, radio jingles, and campaign songs that coloured their childhoods.

And so, in a split of that tender moment, parents became history teachers, grief counsellors and keepers of memory.

“In a split of a moment, parents paused to find the right words, how could we explain to our nine-year-old son that a man who had walked through prison doors and podiums alike, a man who carried both love and controversy was gone? How do you teach children that a life lived in public service can end, but its meaning can live on?” Paused Prof Eliud Ndiema.

Family coach and counsellor Lisa Wanjiro says for many parents, it is not just the death of a leader, but the closing of a chapter that defined resilience, conviction, and hope.

“Children, in their honesty, bring us back to what matters most, the human side of history - they don’t ask about elections or manifestos, but they ask about tears, about why people gather to sing, to wave flags, to whisper prayers,” says the Wanjiro.

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She says in explaining loss to them, parents rediscover the essence of legacy, that greatness is not in titles, but in how one’s story touches lives, perhaps.

“In helping them understand this moment, we also teach them how to live, to stand firm, to speak truth, and to dream beyond self,” says the counsellor.

When grief hits home

“My daughter asked if Raila was our relative,” says Carole Muteti. “She could not understand why her father looked so sad when he heard the news. So, we told her, “No, he’s not family by blood, but by story. He’s part of Kenya’s big family.’”

At a primary school in Nairobi’s South C, teachers noticed a change in the pupils’ mood.

“The morning after the announcement, the playground was quieter,” recalls Gerald Gitonga, a teacher. “Even the younger ones sensed something important had happened,” he added.

Wanjiro says in moments like these, children absorb emotions before they understand facts. “They watch how adults behave, and they sense sadness, even if they can’t name it,” she says.

Psychologist Anne Wambui, who works with children in emotional development, says parents should not shy away from such conversations.

“Children are very perceptive,” she explains. “Silence can make them anxious. It’s better to talk openly, using simple words. Explain that someone who did great things for the country has died, and that it’s okay to feel sad.”

Wambui adds that children also learn empathy from watching how adults mourn: “When we light candles, sing, or attend vigils, children learn that grief is love trying to find a voice.”

The legacy we pass on

Beyond politics and headlines, parents are also discovering that this is a moment to talk about values.

Raila Odinga’s story is, at its heart, a story of endurance, of speaking truth even when it costs you, of believing in a vision even when others doubt. Parents are now telling their children not just that he died, but how he lived.

“We told our son that Raila never gave up,” says James Nkubi, a father of four. “That even when he was jailed, he still believed Kenya could be better. We wanted him to see that leadership is not about power, but persistence.”

In many families, the conversation turned from mourning to meaning. Children are learning that heroes are human, that they laugh, cry, make mistakes, and still stand tall.

As one mother put it, “It’s not about agreeing with his politics. It’s about appreciating what it means to love a country enough to fight for it your whole life,” she says.

Historians write that Kenya’s story has always been told through voices like fathers, freedom fighters, teachers, and mothers who never gave up. “Now, parents have a chance to pass that torch, one bedtime story at a time,” says Wanjiro.

The expert says, it is in these small, intimate conversations that the next generation learns what it means to belong, not just to a family, but to a nation.

“When the tears dry and the songs fade, what will remain are the lessons children carry forward – that courage doesn’t mean shouting the loudest, that leadership isn’t about titles, but service, that love of country is shown not in slogans, but in the quiet work of making things better”.

Every generation has its hero – someone who reminds us of who we are and what we can become. For parents, it is their duty to translate those public stories into private wisdom.