DEATH & BEAUTY
How do you talk with your deep-feeling kid about death?
I’m seriously asking. I usually hide a little behind my posts with culture dives and general topics, but like all new ventures, sometimes we’re called to switch things up and get more personal.
Last night at 10 pm, I was holding my 9-year-old sweet boy in my arms as he cried and cried about the concept of death. It deeply worries him. And like the rest of us, he can’t comprehend why God allows “bad” things to happen. He talked about a boy at his school who dealt with horrible seizures his whole life and then died suddenly last year, leaving a bereaved family and schoolmates. My son told me that this particular kid was the embodiment of kindness. He was a couple of years older and always made a point to smile, hug, or high-five the younger children as they crossed paths in the hallway. In addition, there are two families in his current class dealing with life-threatening cancer: one is the mother of his classmate, and the other is the younger brother of another, only 2 years old.
And then, there's his beloved labradoodle, Pyjamas, who died this year on the day of his school’s “October Fest.” The descent into sickness and inevitable death was too quick to adequately register.
My son as a baby with our dog.
Our elderly neighbor’s wife. A cousin’s cat. Everywhere he looks is a reminder that we will all die one day.
My son is lucky. He’s not the kid with the mom who has cancer. He hasn’t experienced a close family member’s death yet. He is loved and has a faith community around him. But he’s still only 9, and he worries.
I was very much like him. Around the same age, I too had the sudden panic of the inevitability of death. I attended an Episcopal school that taught us about heaven and the afterlife, but this didn’t bring me comfort. The idea of living someplace forever after death didn’t appeal to me. This massive anxiety would continue throughout my teen years and into young adulthood. I would manage by pushing thoughts down and ignoring them until randomly, I’d be driving without a problem on my mind and then bam! The sudden recognizable surge of fear would engulf me for a few seconds until I shrugged it off and moved on.
Art seemed to help a little bit as I read great literature and poetry or watched the musings of sad films as a post-adolescent. I took solace in feeling seen among writers, artists, and actors who grappled with the same existential dilemma. I ditched Christianity for the New Age so I would have more control over my destiny. I could manifest my pathways; I could take one esoteric iteration and then abandon it for another depending on my spiritual inclination at the time — what I felt I needed to pacify and inspire me in any moment. Truth was no longer rigid, and it wasn’t capitalized. Around this time I also met my now-husband, who is uncommonly brave and quoted Peter Pan to me as a remedy: “To die will be an awfully big adventure!” And he meant it.
After having my children, I slowly rekindled my Christian roots. I’ve grown closer to the ritual and structure of going to church on Sundays and the simple pleasure of relinquishing to “God’s Will.” But I had a very long and winding route to this sense of peace. And my fears are not completely gone. While they’ve left for how I feel if I die, they remain for my kids. As a mother, I am tremendously burdened with what I’ve come to call “nightmare flashes” of horrid things that could happen to my children. But isn’t this common? Isn’t that part of the job? And ultimately, don’t we have to just have faith?
Back to my son. He’s always been a deep thinker, a sensitive soul. I consulted a specialist when we moved from our hometown during Covid as his fears seemed to pop up as intrusive thoughts. The doctor recommended that we don’t coddle his fears but allow him to face them in increments head-on. It seemed that exposure therapy done with love was the only proven method for his temperament. And it worked. Within a year, he moved on, adjusted, and thrived. But now, his fear of death seems an inevitable next step for this 9-year-old. With lots of changes in his life: a new school, a new church, a dramatic car crash… his beloved dog’s death. How do I comfort him when prayers, readings, love, and reassurance don’t work long-term?
The only thing that I could think of last night was something that my shuttle driver told me on a recent trip to the airport. He had just confided in me a very sad story about his family, to which I replied: “I will pray for you,” and meant it sincerely. He in turn asked me if there was something he could pray for me about. I mentioned my son’s fears of death and his recent anxiety. My driver responded:
Tell him that life is beautiful because it doesn’t come again. Love wouldn’t have meaning if there wasn’t pain. Tell him he’s being prayed for, and that God’s love will surprise him in the end.
In some ways, I think he’s too young to comprehend such words, but last night, I tried. I held his head in my hands and told him in a way I thought he could understand. It seemed to lessen his burden for the night, but I know it’ll be a long journey for him, and I hope I can always be there to help him as he braves through it.
So good