Talking about Death with Kids

In March we lost our family cat to a car accident and three weeks later a treasured family friend lost his battle with melanoma at 35. My then almost-6 year olds were confronted with death for the first time in the loss of a pet and a dear person within the same month. My husband and I were available to talk openly with them as they processed it all, but they were remarkably strong through that season. There were surprisingly few questions.

After Sweeney's death, his widow Cabell hosted a small service for the elementary aged children of close friends who had been praying for Sweeney's healing. She wanted to make sure their questions, emotions and concerns were addressed--specifically as they related to prayers being answered differently than we had hoped and Heaven. My children participated and seemed to take it all in stride.

While I am not a fan of unnecessarily worrying children or giving them more that they are ready to bear, I believe strongly that we should not shield them from death. It is, of course, a fact of life. I come to this discussion with somewhat of a strange background. My maternal grandparents owned a funeral home throughout my mother's childhood. Mom and her 5 siblings actually lived upstairs from the funeral parlor for a portion of her childhood. My mother's first job out of high school was preparing bodies for autopsies. I grew up accompanying my grandmother to leave flowers at the family cemetery plot weekly. Death was viewed as a quite natural part of life.

As I result, I am comfortable discussing death openly with my children--not in a morbid way, but respectfully and truthfully. How can we expect them to value eternity if they don't understand our mortality?

That said, this afternoon I had a conversation with P that I don't think I will soon forget. He and K asked me to hike to the top of a historical cemetery built on a large hill nearby. It was a gorgeous day, so I obliged. (R stayed behind to 'help' his Daddy with a backyard project.) As we walked through the old graves, my children asked about the stones that were clearly marking infants. We talked about the fact that people live all different lengths of time. We have no idea what God has planned for us.

As we reached an area where the mausoleums were located, P asked how the bodies got out of the concrete vaults to go to heaven. "Are we all invisible in Heaven?"
I then proceeded to tackle explaining spirit/soul to P.
Ever the dramatic child, he raised his hands in the air and said, "What are you trying to tell me?"
As I explained that it is not your actual body that goes to Heaven he sat down and put his head between his legs.
"Mom," he sniffed, "I really like this body."
I couldn't get over the irony that my child who I have spent 6 years fretting over through physical therapy--worrying how he might compare himself to his siblings and his peers--was almost in tears at the thoughts of a new/perfect body.
Isn't it human nature to prefer the brokenness we know over the promise of a gift from God that requires a bit of faith?
As we talked a little more, P began to understand. A wide grin crept across his face and he erupted into laughter.
"Now I get it! I like God's plan."

I confess that even as I type this I am insecure about how readers may judge me in this instance. I am not a morbid Mama trying to scare my children. We set out on an afternoon hike and stumbled into a deep, meaningful conversation.

Speaking of death is uncomfortable. It is one of those things that strikes such emotional chords in most of us it is difficult to process ourselves, much less with probing 6 year olds. As well-intentioned parents, I think we work hard to keep our children in the dark about things that might frighten them. Yet, I feel like my children are less, not more, afraid after an open conversation this afternoon.