One of the more complicated subjects to talk to children about is death. Because we are a little reticent to speak about it more generally anyway, it’s not surprising that it would be not a favorite topic at the dinner table. There are many questions, some of which are not easy to answer.
We have suffered a loss in our family this past week, and it was fascinating to see our oldest respond. My wife is never one to pull punches; she tries very hard not to use euphemisms for anything. We’ve talked about death and experienced it in our home with the loss of some goldfish (she wanted to touch the fish’s dead body, which we permitted, under as sanitary a circumstance as we could make).
Having studied about ancient Egypt in school, she knew a lot about mummies and how they are made, and what tombs were and why they were built. As a science-lover, she is pretty clinical and sophisticated in her use of language. But as someone with a powerful spirit, she also seems to understand that which is often beyond comprehension to many adults.
The woman whom we lost was my sister-in-law’s mother; she was for our girls much like a third grandmother, though previous losses had taken a toll on her spirit. The girls called her “nonna,” just as their cousin did. On the day she passed, we visited her at my sister-in-law’s. The woman had just arrived a few days before, having spent time in the hospital. She was coming there to die, and it was just a matter of time (we did not think it would be that soon). The girls drew pictures for her; our oldest wrote on her picture “to Nonna,” asking us how to spell it first. They played around her in the bed the hospital sent home with her, and danced and made her smile for the first time in several weeks. Our oldest was singing, “I’m sorry we can’t make you a mummy but this is not ancient Egypt!” As we were saying good-byes, she told my sister-in-law, “muriendo,” (I’m dying). We tried to tell her no, not yet, but a few hours later, shortly after some of her relatives arrived from a long trip, she let go, telling everyone she could see her son, who’d passed on unexpectedly just two years ago.
Our youngest had been a little more scared to see her as she was so sick, and being so young, we made sure she did not attend any of the viewings at the funeral home. Our oldest attended one viewing, on the second day. My wife had carefully explained how Nonna would be made up and probably explained a little about what the morticians did, trying to prepare her as much as possible. On the way over, she was saying she did not want to go in, and did not enter the memorial chapel at first, but then declared, okay, I’m ready.
She asked a lot of questions as she saw the body in the casket. She remarked how it did not look much like the woman she knew. Eventually she said, “she’s not here.”
At not quite six, she seemed to understand that the spirit, the life that was her “nonna,” was no longer in the shell that was her body.
I hope she noticed that the picture she made for Nonna on her final day was in the casket, along with a very sweet picture of my two children and my nephew. She loved my girls as if they were her own grandchildren.
There are other questions that come up, and those with particular faiths may turn to those to help answer them. The most important thing is to be honest in what you understand to be true. They get more than you think.