My Son Came to Grips with Mortality—Here’s How I Handled It

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You would think I’d be ready for my 8-year-old son Jake’s first major existential crisis. After all, I’m a champion worrier. I could win any “Did you remember your jacket?” competition, but when it comes to the big stuff, like death, I have a black belt. It all started when I watched Harold and Maude at just 7 years old. Since then, I’ve been on high alert, convinced that Death is always lurking just out of sight. Whether it was during my kindergarten graduation, my driving test, or even a wild trip to a volcano in Italy, I’ve always felt that presence.

Becoming a parent didn’t ease my worries; it intensified them. Now, I was responsible for two little lives and saw danger everywhere. So, I kept my fears mostly to myself, hoping my kids wouldn’t inherit my anxieties.

One evening, while visiting friends in California, my daughter was fast asleep on the sofa bed, and I thought Jake was tucked in next to her. After a whirlwind week of family reunions and Disney adventures, we were all exhausted. But despite everything going smoothly—no plane crashes, no creepy crawlies, and no rides gone wrong—Jake emerged from the bedroom, clearly restless.

“Mom, I can’t sleep,” he said.

“Jake, you just got in bed,” I replied.

“But I’m serious! I can’t sleep!”

After several attempts to settle down, he kept wandering back to the living room. I was frustrated and ready to confront him when I finally found him sitting up in bed, looking utterly defeated. I squeezed in beside him, hoping to offer some comfort.

“What’s bothering you, buddy?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

A little background on Jake might help. He’s always been a bit of an old soul. He taught himself to read at 3, and by 4, he was already diving into Harry Potter. He’s had his share of health scares and even officiated a goldfish funeral. He’s been through a lot for someone so young, including the loss of beloved grandparents.

When Jake was just 4, we had to explain the death of his grandfather one Christmas. It was a tough conversation, but he took it surprisingly well. Fast forward to his sixth birthday, when I had to tell him that his beloved Nana was terminally ill. His reaction was heartbreaking yet composed. He asked logical questions, even helping us with her ashes later on.

So, when he came to me that night, I thought I knew what was coming. But instead, he hesitated and finally said, “I’m just upset that one day everyone I love has to die.”

Caught off guard, I burst out laughing. “That’s your worry?” It felt so absurd, yet I immediately felt guilty. I pulled him close and acknowledged the truth in his words.

“Yes, it’s sad,” I said. “And it’s hard to accept. But it makes the time we have together all the more precious. We need to cherish every moment, have fun, and love each other deeply.”

Despite my own worries about things like my kids falling off the roof or minor accidents, Jake was confronting the harsh reality that we all must face eventually: separation from loved ones.

As we settled back down, I quietly left the room, feeling a mix of pride and sadness. I curled up between my kids, listening to their steady breaths, and for a moment, everything felt right.

If you’re navigating similar challenges, check out this insightful article that dives into parenting and its complexities. You can also explore more about self-insemination at Make a Mom. For additional tips on home insemination, this resource is excellent.

Summary

When my son Jake confronted the inevitability of death, I realized I needed to respond differently than I usually do. Instead of deflecting with humor or worry, I embraced the reality that life is precious and fleeting. It was a moment of connection that led to meaningful insights about cherishing every moment we have together.