Lessons learned for Supporting bereaved Children in Schools
Out of all the goals in life to aspire to, knowing how to support grieving children in schools isn’t likely to be at the top of anyone’s list. It wasn’t on mine when I began training to become a primary school teacher in the mid-nineties. But life has a way of leading us down unexpected paths, and for me, it’s where my professional and personal journeys have converged.
I taught in a variety of primary schools, developing my teaching style and learning from the children in my care. I led in different curriculum areas before becoming a Deputy Headteacher, a role in which I felt settled and then ready to start my own family. It was during this time, before I had children of my own, that I taught a 9-year-old named Aaron.
Aaron was in my first class at a new school where I was a class-based Deputy Headteacher. Aaron’s dad had died two years earlier, his mum had a new partner, and Aaron had a new baby brother. I assumed that he had ‘moved on’ from his grief, had adjusted to his new life and was content with the stability it offered. At that time, I had not experienced the death of someone close to me, so I had no point of reference other than to treat and to teach Aaron as I would do any other child in my class. What I didn’t understand then was that grief isn’t something you simply ‘move on’ from.
I took two active steps to support Aaron in school. First, I used the term "grown-ups" instead of "mums and dads" to avoid alienating him. Second, I made sure to prepare him in advance for a lesson or task that might trigger difficult emotions. While these steps were well-intentioned, I now realise that there was so much more I could have done. I understand better now what it truly means to be a bereaved child in a mainstream school environment, as I see my own children cope with their grief following the death of their dad in June 2019 when they were only 8, 6 and 3 years old.
Daniel, at 8-years-old, wanted to go back to school two days after his dad died. Matthew, at 6, wanted to follow his big brother’s lead. Six years later, they both remember how returning to school gave them a sense of comfort, routine, and connection with their friends. Daniel’s class sent home a card with messages from his classmates, telling him they were thinking of him and looking forward to his return. His response surprised me, as he shrugged and put it on the pile of comics by his bed. He didn’t want the attention; he wanted his ‘normal’ back. But as an adult, I knew that his normal would look different from now on.
Supporting my children’s return to school started with good communication. I saw school staff at drop-offs and pick-ups and was given time to chat if needed. Matthew’s Year 1 teacher supported his class by sharing bereavement books (mostly about pets) before he returned to school. She explained that Matthew’s dad had died, that he might be sad, and that their job was to help him. A teaching assistant with whom Matthew had a good relationship was timetabled to stay in his class, providing him with someone he could turn to.
Matthew remembers helping with out-of-class jobs and sometimes choosing whether to sit with his class or work in a small group with the teaching assistant. “Matthew was very open, willing and brave to talk about losing his dad,” they told me. “Whenever he did, we stopped everything to have an impromptu talk about how he was feeling or to address any questions. There was never a ‘bad’ time to talk about it. We wanted Matthew and everyone else to know that if they need to talk or ask questions, they could.” It felt like a culture of care was wrapped around my 6-year-old when he needed it most.
Good communication was also key in Daniel’s return to school in Year 4. I created a family mantra, ‘Be brave, Be kind,’ as our symbolic armour. Grief often kicks when people don’t say the right things, even with the best intentions. His teacher adopted it as the class motto, and I loved seeing it displayed as a large graffiti sign in his classroom.
As my boys grow older, I see first-hand how their grief doesn’t follow any clear timeline. It resurfaces at anniversaries, milestones, and in unexpected moments. Reflecting on Aaron’s journey, I see the same was true for him. Two years on, my role as his class teacher was just as crucial as it had been for the teacher who first helped him reintegrate into school and routine during those early days of his bereavement.
I see this clearly too in my youngest son, Sam, who was just a toddler when his dad died; too young to grasp the full impact, yet deeply affected by his absence. He carried the weight of loss, surrounded by the confusing emotions of grief at the time. As he grows older, his understanding deepens, bringing up new feelings, questions, and behaviours. To help him make sense of it all, I work closely with his school, meeting his new teacher at the start of each academic year to discuss his experience and current emotional needs. Together, we focus on both proactive and reactive support, equipping him with tools that will benefit him for life.
These experiences led me to create The Marfleet Foundation, a space where schools can access resources, training, and real-life experiences to better support grieving children. My goal is to empower educators with the knowledge and confidence to make a difference, so no child faces grief alone or unsupported. Grief is a shared human experience, and the more we talk about it openly, the better equipped we are to guide children toward a future where grief is understood and where the needs of grievers are better considered. It has allowed me to channel my energy into something positive amidst the pain following my husband’s death, while also being present for my own children as they navigate their grief in their own way and at their own pace.
As a teacher, I know that schools work hard to create nurturing environments, but without the proper training and understanding of child bereavement, educators may miss crucial opportunities to help grieving children feel seen and supported. Good support requires a holistic approach: one that combines proactive planning, reactive care, and an ongoing commitment to meeting children where they are in their grief. Proactive planning involves identifying where death and grief appear in the curriculum and tailoring the approach to acknowledge and reassure the child’s experience, rather than alienating them. Reactive care means being ready to respond to a child’s emotional needs as they arise, prioritising their emotional well-being.
Looking back, I know I supported Aaron with care and empathy, but I wish I had taken the time to simply sit next to him and listen to how he felt in school, in my classroom. If I had, I would have known his triggers, rather than relying on my assumptions, and I could have given him time to talk about his dad. My children’s primary school have taken this concept further, creating a group where bereaved children can talk about their loved one, process their grief and share coping strategies. This approach empowers them to adapt to the changes in their lives while feeling understood and supported.
Daniel and Matthew are now in secondary school, navigating school life with increasing independence. They’ve carried the tools they learned during primary school with them, continuing to build fulfilling lives and emotional resilience as they grow. This is an ongoing journey, but their experiences reaffirm the long-term value of grief-aware education. It’s not just about helping bereaved children cope, it’s about helping them thrive.