As a mama
there are just certain things you will constantly tell your children; stop
that, don’t run, sit still, stop yelling, that won’t happen, and don’t
worry. In fact, I sometimes contemplate playing a drinking game where
every time I say one of those things I’d take a gulp of wine. But, then I remember that I have to adult and
being drunk all day could become problematic. So that list of ever-repeated phrases has
become so commonplace I don’t even hear myself say it half the time. It wasn’t until this past weekend that I said
it, actually heard myself say it, and
saw the painful doubt in my four-year-old’s worried eyes.
We were
getting ready for her nap and she touched my cheek and started crying, “I’m
going to miss you if you die!” I gently but quickly said, “I’m not dying,”
dismissing it as a stall tactic. She
cried a little more but then settled down. When she woke up from her nap she was still
out of sorts and whiny so I had her sit with me on the couch for a bit. She seemed to rally until she asked, “Does
everybody die?” I faltered for a moment, ready to say ‘don’t worry, that
won’t happen’ yet I couldn’t form the words and force them out of my
mouth.
You see
Kennedy knows that it’s not true. She knows death. And I’m not just talking a
fish, though we have recently lost her beta fish that we tried our damnedest
with (two years, we managed!) and she had a good cry over him. No, I mean
the kind of actual death that leaves a gaping absence in your home. Her
baby brother died almost two years ago. Though
she never saw him in person, her little heart had already carved out a place
for him and so when he didn’t come home with Mommy and Daddy, but in his place
a grief that overpowered our lives, she felt the loss. Even if at times she couldn’t understand what
it was, she felt it. We never lied to
her, we explained in terms she could understand yet never anything abstract- “Jack
died and when you die you don’t come back anymore”-knowing things like heaven
would be lost on her. We weren’t sure
she got it, but as time went on she would fact check on what dying meant,
whether all babies died or just ours, did that still make her a sister, or
whether you still miss people when they die; all of these made it very clear
she understood he was gone. I often
doubt whether we handled any of it the right way, especially when she goes on a
tangent talking about dying at inopportune times like birthday parties or
playing with her cousins. But I have to
remind myself that this is part of her life experience and to ignore it is to
discount it and even if that breaks my heart, it will help shape who she
becomes in this life.
And so, when
she asked, “Does everybody die,” I had to say ‘yes, eventually everyone
dies,’ and just hug her as she cried. And she did cry. Real, sad tears. I grasped at straws saying,
“But don’t worry, not for a really, super long time!” As she calmed a bit from
that, I, inside my anxious-mother-mind, desperately pleaded with whoever is in
charge of that sort of thing for it to be true; ‘Please don’t take anyone
else this little girl loves too soon, her little heart needs to mend.’ Death was then the subject of the night
and it took a while for me to get her to change the subject. I thought we had moved on until I was tucking
her in again for bed and she said, “Don’t worry Mama, because even if you do
die you won’t really go away, I’ll just keep you by Jack in my heart.” I
managed to choke out ‘Okay’ passed the lump in my throat, kiss her, and
leave the room.
I will not
lie to her about death and dying. I will always to my best to help her make
sense of the losses she faces as best we can. I myself struggle to understand why certain
people die when they do, why my baby boy couldn’t stay with us in this life and
I tell her that too. I tell her so she understands that she is not alone in her
sadness and that some days we may just feel a little sadder than we do other
days and that that’s okay too.
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