Explaining Death to a Three-Year Old

Yesterday, while driving home from preschool, M asked me about our family. She's been doing this a lot lately. I suspect she's trying to make sense of her world and how she fits in to the big picture. First we identified my mom and dad. Then K's mom and dad. Then my mother's mom and dad (both of who are very much alive and kicking). She paused for a minute and asked the inevitable next question: "Who are papa's (my father) mommy and daddy? Where are they?"

I took a minute to collect my thoughts. My dad's mother died just over a year ago. And my grandfather died back in the early 90s. Very recently M and I started talking about death and what it means. But generally I tend to avoid the subject as much as possible because I don't want to cause anxiety or fear.

I glanced at M in the rearview mirror and, in my most confident, matter-of-fact voice said: "Papa's mommy and daddy aren't around any more. They died." Without skipping a beat M asked, "Why did they die?" Small beads of sweat began to form in a variety of locations. "Um...well....they were very, very old and they'd lived long, happy lives and it was time for them to go."

"But where did they go, mommy?"

Where indeed. At this point, the small beads of sweat turned into a torrential downpour (note to self: time to toss out the hippie deodorant and buy something that frigging works). This was not a conversation I was prepared to have. At all. "Well...I don't really know sweetie. Daddy believes when you die, you go to another place. A place where you feel happy and relaxed and see all your friends and family again."

M smiled and, thankfully, did not ask the obvious--to me--next question (what do you believe, mommy?). Instead she hit me with another doozy. "Mommy, will you die? And will daddy?" Oh dear. Below a transcript of our conversation:

J: "Um....Sweetie everyone dies. It's part of life. We are born, most of us live long lives, and then--when we are very old--we die." If we're lucky, of course.

M: "Will I die mommy?"

J: "We will all die someday. But most people don't die until they are very, very old."

M: "Even Z? Will she die?"

J: "Yes sweetie. We all die. This is part of life. But I think you and Z will live for a very long time before you die." Please, please, please God (who I'm not sure I believe in) let this be the case.

M: "But why do we have to die? I don't want you to die! I don't want daddy to die!"

Well fuck. Fuckola. This is the type of conversation M should be having with K. He's our spiritual go-to guy. And much more equipped to navigate an existential chat with a three-year old than your's truly.

At this point, we were parked in our driveway. I got out of the car and hurried over to the backseat where M sat looking miserable. "Sweetpea, mommy and daddy don't plan on dying any time soon. And when we do, you will probably be a very old lady with children and grandchildren of your own." Please, please, please let this be the case. I gave her a big hug. "And remember, daddy believes when we die, we don't go away forever. We just go to another place where we see the other people who we love and miss." At that, M smiled. "And we'll see each other!" I nodded even though, as always, I had my personal doubts about that. But this was clearly NOT the time nor the place to have that discussion.

We got out of the car, woke Z up, and made our way into the house. M was clearly feeling just fine. I, on the other hand, was feeling very troubled.

First of all, I am simply terrified of death. Yes, I realize no sane person looks forward to dying. But now and then I find myself lying awake at night feeling deep anxiety about death and what it will mean for me. Secondly, and possibly the reason for the previous item, I have no religion to speak of. I was raised a Catholic as a child but by the time I'd hit my early 20s, I really hadn't a clue what to believe. At this point in my life, given all the terrible, cruel things that happen to people, I confess to having some serious doubts about God (hopefully if I'm wrong, he/she will forgive me for being such an idiot). And I most certainly do not subscribe to any specific religious faith (but if I had to, it would be something along the lines of Buddhism).

So what do I tell my children to reassure them about death? How am I supposed to instill a sense of peaceful acceptance of the flow of life and its inevitable end when the mere thought of dying gives me heart palpitations and the sweats?

This morning, as I drove M to preschool, I passed a series of churches....all of which appeared to have some form of vacation bible camp going on. Tons of kids were whooping it up with water balloons, bouncy houses, and the like. And I began to remember something Fr. George (the super laid back priest who married us and baptized the kids) once told me: "I don't care what your personal faith is. Find a church--any church--to raise your children in. It can be Catholic, Protestant, Anglican, the Church of Coltrane. Whatever. Just do it. It's important for your children and your family."

I suspect Fr. George was trying to impress upon me the importance of having a tight-knit community in which to raise a family. But now, for the very first time, I'm beginning to see an additional layer to his comment. Even if you're not religious or even spiritual, your children still need some guidance to help them navigate the mysteries, and inevitable sorrows, of life. And last I checked, the non-believers aren't exactly providing me with any pointers.

I still haven't a clue what to do about this. I mean, it would be hypocritical of me to drag my family to church every Sunday if it's not something I really believe in. But I do think it makes sense to expose the kids to something. I'm just not sure what.