I was lying with Martin last night as he was falling asleep, telling him a story. I thought he had already drifted away; he was very still. Then he said, “Mom, when I am very old, are you going to be killed?” His voice broke, and he sobbed; I could see tears stream down his cheeks by the glow of the nightlight.
Uh-oh. My mind started racing. I believe in telling him the truth, worded appropriately for a three year old perspective, but this was not like telling him where the truck filled with stacked cages of chickens was heading on the highway the other day. How to say: Well, yes, I am going to die. Odds are, you’ll probably be in your fifties–that is, unless I succumb to one of the cancers that seem to cut down certain women in my family when they’re quite young–but, really, it could happen at any time, even tonight. . . . which would be, morbid as it is, the truth.
“I’m here right now,” I said, hugging him, “and I will be in the morning [please!] and I think I’ll be right here with you for so long it will feel like forever.”
He was still choking on his sobs; I could feel it in his little body as I held him. “But I’m going to have you when I’m three and four and five and six and seven, but then when I’m very old, you are going to fall off of a bridge and be killed.”
My odds of falling off a bridge to my death seem staggeringly low, and I reassured him on this point fairly well, and hoped that the conversation would turn to the various unlikely ways I could meet my end. I’d be on stable ground convincing him that a bald eagle wasn’t going to snatch me from the front yard, for instance. I wasn’t so lucky.
“Where will you go if you get killed? And where is Grammy’s family?”
I am not religious, but I sorely wished that I had a religion-based, this-is-what-happens-when-we-die answer for him. I had a fleeting thought of a mother, long ago, inventing the whole idea of heaven to soothe her child asking this very question…
I admitted that I didn’t know where people went when they got killed, but floundered for something remotely consoling. “Did you know that when I’m right here next to you, or somewhere else, or anywhere, you still have me with you? All the little pieces that make up your body are from Dad and me.” I went on a little in this vein, and he seemed to like it.
His last question: “If Dad gets killed, how is he going to teach people how to use computers?”
Sigh. This is so moving. I appreciate your honesty with him so much. When dd asked me what happens when we die, in spite of my belief that it’s just the end, I very confidently said, “we go to heaven.” So nice. So convenient. So clearly proof that I am a chicken sh*t.
If it weren’t for that last line I’d have broken down sobbing. I’m such a wus. It’s a good thing your family’s writers aren’t on strike. I need the humor.
my favorite book is “No Matter What” by Debi Gliori…ends with the words “Its like that with love–we may be close, we may be far but our love still surrounds us wherever we are”
Its not a direct answer… It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy
I love your honest approach, a difficult area when full of so much love for our children and at the same time, a fierce need to protect them from all they fear!
I tell my little guy (the youngest of three boys) that I’m always with him, in his heart – and he is always with me. This got us off to a new routine. When I kissed him goodnight, he pushed his lips hard (he’s four).
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m pushing in your kisses too.”
Yes, I sobbed to sleep that night and wished I would’ve brought up heaven as well (I am religious) but I was happy to be tugged into his heart with my own kisses for the night.
Just one mommy to another…I post on iQuestions.com with other great moms…come visit me there sometime
Rebecca
My son has asked this too and, basically, I told him that I hope to be very old when I die…that I hope to have many years with him before that happens…but none of us know when we’ll die. Now, we hope this together…for both of us.
Oh, my. Just oh, my.
Oh that made me flinch just reading it. You handled it beautifully but what a heartbreaking conversation.
You seem to get all the good questions. I love these vignettes.
It’s a tough question. I hate that they always ask these questions when we’re least expecting it.
oh god. laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.
that’s from a play. have no idea which one but it just came to me as I laughed at that last sentence even though my heart felt clenched.
I love the idea that our kids are made up of bits of us. My religious beliefs mean I get to use heaven but it’s still a tricky issue because Lu can’t comprehend that cats and people don’t come back ever. And that’s the sad bit, isn’t it.