02.25.04

Explaining Death to a Three-Year-Old

Posted in Personal at 12:53 pm by Jeff

The phone rang in the wee hours of the morning, interrupting my best hours of sleep. As I went to bed the prior night, I knew the call could come at any time. Amy’s Grandpa had been deteriorating slowly since having a stroke a few weeks ago, but on Tuesday the doctor gave a diagnosis of congestive heart failure. The timetable immediately shifted from a matter of weeks and months, to one of hours and days.

The past year and a half have been joyous in so many ways as Grandpa Goodie came to live with Amy’s parents. The experience has been especially rich for Kaitlyn. She loves her Grandpa Goodie dearly and spending time with her Great-grandfather makes her glow. A special connection exists between one so old (94) and one so young (3 ½).

Our hearts were heavy as Amy and I anticipated telling our oldest daughter that her Grandpa Goodie had gone home to be with Jesus. Outside of the regular drama of the three-year-old world, this would be Kaitlyn’s first true experience of tragedy, loss, and grief. How would she respond? What would be the best way to communicate the facts to her? Would she remember this experience, or would it simply fade away like so many early-life experiences?

“Grandpa Goodie went home to be with Jesus this morning. He died,” my wife explained.

“But I don’t want him to die. I want to see him again,” Kaitlyn protested.

“We will see him again, someday.”

“Grandpa Goodie will come back from Jesus?”

“No, we will go to be with Jesus and Grandpa Goodie someday.”

“But I don’t want to die.”

I was amazed at how quickly she connected the dots in her mind. There was to be no beating around the bush with this little one. What amazed me the most, however, was the maturity of her response. No whining, fussing, or uncontrollable weeping, just a serious grasping of the fact that her Grandpa Goodie was gone, and that someday, she would be gone too. Amy just held her close as Kaitlyn gazed into empty space, pondering what this all meant. Eventually, Kaitlyn broke the silence: “I don’t want to die; I want to go watch T.V.”

I love how blunt young children can be. There I was doting on my daughter the deep thinker, impressed at her ability to synthesize the facts and deal with reality. Then she shattered my train of thought and reminded me that she is still 3. Her priorities do not match my own. What could be more important than catching the latest episode of “Dragon Tales?”

After explaining to Kaitlyn that people do not usually die until they are older, she left the room to get her T.V. fix for the morning. I still have questions about how much she will remember and how this will all affect her. I know that someday her priorities will shift, and she will grow to better understand the nature of life and death. However, at this point, I think I will refrain from explaining to her that there won’t be any television in heaven.

UPDATE: 03/01/2004 - Explaining Death Redux

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