I tried to start out simply: Everything in nature lives for a while and then dies. We talked for a minute about the flowers in the yard, the dead bird daddy found last week, the life cycle of stars on his favorite show. He seemed to understand the very basic concept, so I moved on.
“Well… people die too, when they get very old, or if they get certain diseases–but NOT things like colds or throwing up,” I added with emphasis (since he had just been sick, and I didn’t want him to be afraid!). “Grandma has a very bad disease, but it’s nothing that you could ever get.”
“When I was sick, it was just my tummy, but I think Grandma’s whole body is sick,” he said.
“Yes,” I agreed. “And when a person’s whole body is very sick, sometimes they die. That means their body stops working… their life energy leaves their body and they can’t do things like eat or breathe or walk around or talk to us anymore. And that’s what will happen when… when Grandma dies.” He was watching my face, intent and wide-eyed. I forced myself to continue. “Do you remember on the universe show, how stars change when they die?”
“Yes! They turn into red giants,” he exclaimed, “and then they cool down and turn into white dwarfs.” (Side note: I am constantly amazed my five year old knows so much.)
“Well, when people die, they change, too.” At this point I hesitated, searching for the right words. George and I are very spiritual and we believe in God, but we don’t exactly go in for the Wings, Harps, and Fluffy Clouds version of the afterlife. “We all have energy that gives us life–lets us feel and think and be ourselves. So even when a person’s body dies, their energy changes into something else. We can’t see them or touch them anymore, but we still love them and they still love us.”
“What about their ears?” he asked.
“They can’t hear with their ears after their body stops working, but they might hear or sense things in a different way. You can still talk to Grandma any time you want and she will know,” I encouraged.
He thought for a minute and then asked, “Mommy? When will Grandma die?”
“I don’t know–no one knows–but… very soon,” I said, trying not to choke on the words. “And I will be sad when she dies, so you might see me crying because I will miss her being with us. And it’s ok if you feel sad, too.”
“Ok,” he said. “I think Andrew and Daddy will be sad too.” And then, shifting gears easily, he asked: “Can I watch the universe show now?”
Lesson over, mercifully.
I know that Oliver is only five and he can’t truly grasp the concept of death, but it was still necessary to have that talk. It was hard to do, and it certainly wasn’t perfect, but I did my best. My goal was to make it less of a shock, less scary, before Grandma is gone. Maybe it even helped me a little bit, too.
Melissa, 33, Ohio. Wife, mother, former RN, 
