‘Dad, does everyone die?’

Photo by Dan Meyers on Unsplash

We recently had a death in the family. An uncle. He was a nice guy. He will be missed. Our twins are 5 now. They didn’t know him, really – saw him at a family party once. This was the first funeral where we had to ask – should they go? The Irish in me said, “This is a good one to break them in, so they can wrap their heads around the next one, which could be tougher.” We still have funerals, I think, so we can process catastrophes socially, in a manner that is familiar. Tradition holds our hands through the grief. No reason to deprive the kids of the comfort these rituals offer. This one will help them through the next.

I told the kids on the car ride to the funeral home they would see a dead body of someone who is my uncle, just like they have uncles. We’ve talked about death before, but not really. Just on the surface level. I didn’t know how they’d react. They’re pretty put together, as kids go. I chalk it up to the fact that they spend time with a lot of different people, and they nap. That’s forever a winning combination. 

We got to the funeral home, said hi to everyone we had to say hi to and then stopped at the kneeler in front of the casket. They accepted it. He used to be alive. Now he is dead. That’s a heavy thing to hang on a 5-year-old, but we’re not going to shelter them from reality. Someone once said, “You don’t raise kids. You raise adults.” I think that’s right. Parenting is a balancing act of letting kids be kids and have experiences they can only have when they’re a kid -- while also guiding them towards adulthood. You don’t deserve credit as a parent for how they are at age 7. You find out how you did as a parent when they’re 27. 

After paying our respects at the casket, they transitioned quickly to playing with the other kids and found the snacks. (Go to any party, and the Donatellis are by the snacks. It wasn’t a family get-together for me and my brothers until my dad came over while we were inhaling Doritos and M&Ms and gritted his teeth and said, “Slow. Down.” We still say this to each other wherever snacks are present. Oh, are you having a good time, brother? SLOW. DOWN.) I was proud of them. They behaved when they were supposed to behave, and they also never stopped being kids. The balancing act in effect.

On the car ride home I relaxed and let my mind wander. Which is to say, I let my guard down. I was so focused on getting the kids through the wake that it never occurred to me that the hard part would occur after. 

“Dad,” came my daughter’s voice from the back seat, “does everyone die?” Really? You’re going to hit me with that AT AGE 5? I guess TODAY is the day. I said, “Yes, everyone dies.” (I briefly considered telling them about history’s exception – there’s a big famous book about it – but I didn’t want to complicate it.) Because her mind is constantly whirring, she followed with, “Will I die?” A smarter dad than I would have taken that as his cue to get into a minor car accident and duck the question. “Oh, geez, looks like we hit the guardrail somehow. You’ll have to ask your mother!” I responded without knowing what I was going to say. I just said, “Yes, but you will live a long time.” Then she asked, “Will you die?” I said, “Yeah, but not soon.” Her brother, who was suddenly aware that he may not always exist on this earthly plane, asked, “Will I die?” “Yes,” I said, “everyone dies, but you two will be alive for a very long time.”

There was a pause, and one of them said, “OK.”

And that was it. 

They haven’t asked yet what happens after you die. (Catholic school can earn our money on that one!) I don’t get the sense they fully, totally get death yet. To be honest, I’m not sure I do. I sometimes think about how delusional I am – how I think there is an infinite amount of time to do all the things I want to do. There isn’t. All we can control is who we are and what we do and how we treat others in the finite amount of time we all have. The upside of death, I guess, if there is one, is that it prompts those of us left behind to set the delusion aside and make the most out of what remains.