Children (and adults!) activate resilience through special connections to things. The night before I headed into the hospital for my double mastectomy, my daughter gave me her stuffed dog. “Chancy will take care of you while you are in the hospital,” she told me. Initially, I was reluctant to take her up on the offer. I had visions of losing Chancy, or spoiling him with hospital germs. At that time, Chancy wasn’t the most prized of my daughter’s furry friends, but he was important. He had been gifted to her when she had spent the previous holiday in the emergency room replenishing her fluids with an IV when a nasty bout of the stomach flu left her dehydrated. A hospital social worker delivered Chancy as a parting gift as if to say, “thanks for participating in our program.” At the moment the social worker handed my daughter the dog in that emergency room, an ordinary dog was stamped with extraordinary meaning, bringing a small measure of comfort and specialness to a bleak situation. He was cute and cuddly, but more importantly, he was a symbol of recognition of my daughter’s suffering. The giver recognized that there were other places a six-year-old would rather be than the emergency room on Christmas Eve. Chancy helped her feel recognized and comforted. Once I brought Chancy home from the hospital after my surgery, his position in the Stuffy Hall of Fame was secure. He became my daughter’s full-on lovie and ever-present bedtime companion. He had served his family faithfully in their time of need, first my daughter, and then me. By accepting her offer to bring him with me, I had helped my daughter feel that she had contributed something meaningful, helpful and loving to ease my suffering. And indeed, when I woke up after my procedure and found Chancy in my recovery bag, I tucked him into bed and let his fuzzy comfort remind me of the love of my family. Having something soft to cuddle can provide a soothing function that can impact our emotional well-being. In one particularly interesting study, adults were made to feel either socially included (they were told “others chose to work with you this research task”), or excluded (“no one wants to work with you”). Afterwards, half of the subjects were invited to hold a teddy bear while answering questions about their emotional state. Among those who were excluded, those that held teddy bears expressed significantly more positive emotions. The researchers hypothesize that the mere act of touching a teddy bear might foster positive emotions and mitigate loneliness. We have long known of the importance of soft touch for babies. Infants have a vital, universal need for what Harry Harlow called “contact comfort:” the soothing physical connection to the soft and cozy. This need is so basic, it can even be met with inanimate objects. In his series of studies with primates in the 1950’s and 60’s, Harlow demonstrated that in the presence of a stand-in, terry cloth “surrogate mother,” infant monkeys explored their environment more freely and demonstrated significantly less fearful and isolating behavior than those monkeys with a wire surrogate. The monkeys’ ability to nuzzle the terry cloth surrogate protected them from the paralyzing, regressive, fearful behavior demonstrated by the monkeys with the cold, hard, wire surrogate mother. This contact comfort continues through childhood. Objects can help reinforce a sense of safety and security in tough times, and they become imbued with special meaning for children. In psychology, we call them transitional objects or comfort objects: they provide comfort as the child gradually transitions from dependence on parental figures to independence. According to the traditional developmental psychology’s attachment theory, the realization that we are separate beings from our caregivers occurs to us in infancy, and is experienced as a loss. We suddenly realize that we are utterly dependent and powerless, alone in the world and at the mercy of our connection with our caregiver. This anxiety prompts us to bond with inanimate objects that are inextricably associated with the soothing comfort and care of our primary caregiver (traditionally the mother), and this helps us maintain closeness and connection with mom, even in her absence. Through transitional objects, we are able to maintain the bond with mom via her “stand in” comfort object when she is increasingly separate. The security blanket, pacifier, or “lovie” is born. Transitional objects are soothing and beneficial for healthy development even in the absence of a major disruptive event, but can be especially important in times of trial following a death. They offer features that can be critically important for children’s coping mechanisms. In his landmark research about transitional objects, psychologist Richard Passman observed: “At times, the blanket seems more meaningful to an aroused child than does the mother herself.” Why would the upset child prefer an object even when mom is available? Because unlike mom, the object is totally under the aegis of the child, and he or she can exert total control over it instead of being at the mercy of its availability or independent functioning! The second helpful feature of a comfort object is that it offers the child a powerful opportunity for role reversal: the child can be in charge of taking care of it. The helpless stuffed animal becomes a psychological holder for the child’s fears and feelings of helplessness following the death of a loved one. The child can work through that anxiety in displacement- a less threatening, arms-length working through of difficult emotions from the position of the omnipotent caregiver. Chancy is afraid of the dark, so I have to turn the light on for him. A seminal research project from the 1970s reveals just how impactful this caregiving responsibility can be for people who have little control over their environment. Judith Rodin and Ellen Langer conducted an experiment in a nursing home in which they gave residents a houseplant. Half were told that the staff would care for the plants (the “control” group); half were in charge of taking care of the plants (the “engaged” group). The psychologists were astonished to find that a year later, those that were in charge of taking care of their house plants were more cheerful, active and alert than those who were not in charge, and less than half as many of the engaged group had died at the point of follow up compared to the control group. Of course, children are not nursing home residents, and plants are not transitional objects. But perhaps we can learn from this study how helpful it can be to give our un-empowered little people an opportunity to take care of something, especially in times of trial. If being responsible for a houseplant can be beneficial, this begs the question: what about a pet? A pet offers all the same aspects of a transitional object (and then some!): often soft, cuddly, yours, ready to receive care, and a holder for all kinds displaced of emotions (without a voice to object or correct). In fact, psychologists have investigated children’s experience with pets in their family, and by the children’s own account, they use pets as transitional objects. Pets can be wonderful companions and confidants to people of all ages, and kids don’t hesitate to make use of them to help them through hard times. While I have tried to provide the social science behind why kids get comfort from objects, as a parent I’m sure you’d chide me that your common sense tells you all you need to know about your child’s attachment to a special stuffed animal or blanket. In fact, your child’s connection to a special object should demonstrate to you that children are incredibly resilient, and will often seek out what they need, even as infants, even in the absence of parental intervention or guidance. But I’ve included it as a core tenet in helping kids cope with the death of a loved one because I think it is important to recognize and honor their efforts to help themselves. Doing so will help you - and them- remember that even though they are children, they have effective tools at their disposal to cope with life’s challenges.