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Last night, my four-year-old son posed a question I anticipated, but it still took me by surprise: “Mommy, how did Uncle Jacob die?” There it was, hanging in the air.
I found myself staring blankly at my curious and innocent child, his big hazel eyes searching for an answer. When I didn’t respond, he pressed on. All I could manage was, “Sometimes these things happen. Would you like some ketchup with your dinner?” How inadequate, I thought. I had over four years to prepare for this moment, and yet here I was, stumbling over my words.
Before becoming a parent, I often envisioned how I would discuss sensitive topics with my children. I imagined having deep conversations about my brother, but in those daydreams, my son was much older, and I delivered my words with the kind of sincerity you’d expect from a TV character. I never imagined I would be facing this question from a four-year-old and finding myself utterly speechless.
The Challenge of Discussing Suicide
Discussing suicide is challenging for adults, let alone when attempting to explain it to young children. After my son went to bed, I turned to Google, searching for guidance on how to discuss suicide with a toddler. One grief counselor suggested telling the truth, saying something like, “He was very sad and didn’t know how to end the pain.” This thought lingered with me.
At five years old, I lost my own uncle to suicide, and I was told it was an accident. It didn’t take long for me to realize there was more to the story. My mother finally shared the truth with me when I turned 14, after I persistently sought more information. I always promised myself I would be honest with my children about my brother’s passing, wanting to avoid shrouding it in secrecy and shame. Yet, now that I faced the question directly, I understood why my mother had hesitated to share the truth with me earlier.
The Fleeting Nature of Childhood
Childhood is fleeting. The wonder, innocence, and sweet curiosity of children, with worries limited to whether they can watch another episode of their favorite show or have an extra dessert, don’t last forever. In just a year, my oldest will be starting kindergarten, and soon enough, the world will begin to strip away that innocence, often without our control. Who am I to explain to him, at four years old, that some people are so sad they no longer wish to live? How could I expect his young mind to comprehend a concept that still eludes me as an adult?
Tyler, my brother, died by suicide 7.5 years ago, three years before my eldest son was born. When a sibling passes away, it’s said that the surviving siblings grieve not just the loss of that person but also the loss of shared moments and future memories. One of the hardest truths about his death is that my children will never have the chance to know him, and he will never know them. Since he passed before they were born, I often wonder if they would be interested in hearing stories about him.
Finding Joy in Memories
Surprisingly, my son has shown a keen interest in Uncle Tyler. He often talks about him being in heaven with dinosaurs and our dog, Buddy. He wants to know what games Tyler liked and what food he enjoyed. I could sit and beat myself up for not being ready for this question; I should have had an answer prepared. As my partner gently reminded me, it’s tough to have an appropriate response when the topic arises unexpectedly.
What I’ve learned from my son’s inquiry is that there isn’t a single correct way to respond, but there are many well-intentioned answers that could be harmful. I can’t shield my children from everything, but I aim to protect them from unnecessary confusion and hurt for as long as I can. I still don’t have a definitive answer for my son, nor am I close to finding one.
For now, I focus on sharing the joyful memories. I tell him how Uncle Tyler loved playing Mario and defeating Bowser, how he enjoyed trains, and how our mom once made him a Thomas the Tank Engine costume for Halloween. I want my children to understand who my brother was beyond the circumstances of his death. After all, he was a person deserving of love and remembrance.
I may not know how I’ll respond when my son asks again, but for now, I can look into his innocent eyes and honestly tell him that I don’t have an answer. And sometimes, that’s the best truth I can offer.