Trigger warning: This is an exchange on the subject of death
Dear Meg,
How do you explain death to a child? My oldest son has expressed his fear of dying—he’s only 6 years old. I had the same fears growing up, and only had peace with it after becoming an activist.
How do I explain it to him? It has been bothering my mind for a few days now.
Also, my husband and I are atheists, and we’re not inclined to introduce any religion to our kids. Still trying to find a good resource on how to explain it to them.
K
Dear K,
Thank you for writing to me. Thank you, too, for the thought and care you’re putting into parenting.
I’m sure it’s not easy, raising a child outside of social convention. For what it’s worth, I’d like to say that you have my absolute respect and understanding, and I hope that the world, even when they do not share your beliefs, would be kind to you and your children.
As you can imagine, I also grappled with your question. I reflected on that struggle, in the hopes that it will lead me to the answer.
I think death is challenging to talk about, in any circumstance. It strikes fear in most of us, because there’s so much we don’t know: Is it really the end? Is there another side? How does that look like? Can the departed see us from there? Will we ever see them again? Not even the wisest can tell, because the moment one can know is also the moment of ceasing to know.
We also fear death, because it very often means pain. We fear losing loved ones to it, and we fear having to bear the shock, anger, and grief, among other emotions that come with that loss.
I thought it’s important to say, then, that fear of death is not a bad thing. It is a survival instinct, one that will help us actively avoid situations that can bring harm to our person.
In your son’s case, it might be worthwhile to understand this fear a little more. Some questions I would ask: When do you feel it? What thoughts come to mind in those moments? How does your body feel?
I believe this is a great opportunity for your son to learn to articulate his emotions, in an environment of unconditional love. You already know this, but I’d still explain that it means listening with full attention, understanding where they’re at, and letting them know they are accepted, without question.
This exercise should also show him that it’s possible to take a step back, talk about himself and his feelings, and see these as two separate things. He is not his fear, or his sadness, or his confusion. In case this sounds too abstract, I mean that he can still act and make decisions, without them taking control. Which leads us to the question: what do we do about fear?
I think we want to be able to teach our children that a healthy amount of fear of death is good and normal. That’s because death *is* scary. At the same time, we would want to explain that death is a fact of life.
Death happens because at some point, hopefully when we’re very, very old, our body, especially our brains and our hearts, will get tired. It can also happen earlier, if we keep feeding them the wrong things, or if they do not get much rest. Or it can also be very sudden, if we got in danger, like a car accident.
We want them to accept their fear of death, but also remember that it should not stop them from doing what they need to do. We will not be immobilized by our fear. Indeed if fear were to serve any purpose at all, it’s to foster in us a kind of humility, based on an acute awareness of our mortality. After all, we will one day die just like everybody. But more importantly, we want them to know that there are better fears to have: the fear of not living well, and of having lived only for oneself.
I believe we want for our children to, as James Baldwin wrote, “respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the breaking of bread.” We want them to appreciate life for the precious, sacred gift that it is—a delicate, tragically short opportunity to experience this universe, whose wonders could fill a billion lifetimes.
Most of all, we want them to live with purpose, to do as much for others as they can. To leave this world a whole lot more peaceful, more just, and more equal, for their fellow human.
With your example and thoughtful guidance, I trust that your son can live his best life. And when his time comes—and I obviously hope this is a hundred years from now—he will face it with great honor and pride. The dream, for that day, is to be able to thank the Universe for a wonderful time, and tell Death, however form it comes, that we did not squander our chance.
Thank you again, K, and my very best wishes on your parenting journey.
Meg
