Teach Me to Die: When Kids Encounter Death and Dying
The other day, Josephine asked me, "Mama, can we stay together forever?" And before I could respond, she continued, "Mama, can we die on the same day?" Somehow I managed not to immediately start bawling, and I gave her the best answer I could, about how we have so much time together to look forward to, we have so many days that she can't even imagine it, and also about how she could hope and pray that we die on the same day, but that I am praying that Dominic and I will stay healthy for a very long time and grow super old, and then we will go to be with Jesus and will wait for her there, when she grows old and also comes to be with Jesus. I don't think it was exactly the answer she was looking for, but she's three, and at that moment saw a pink bouncy ball that she just had to have, and so distraction saved the day.
But this isn't the first time that she's brought up death and dying, and it won't be the last. I suppose death and dying comes up often in our house. Part of this has to do with the fact that Dominic regularly does funerals—of the old, of the middle-aged, and sometimes of the far-too-young. Most of the time, the kids only notice that he's wearing a suit, and I tell them that Papa (they call him by the very old-fashioned name Papa) wears suits when he does weddings and funerals, and that's the end of that. But sometimes they want to know, Who died? What were they like? Is their family is sad?
But it's not just because he's a pastor and spends plenty of time with the grieving. We have our own losses that require personal grief. Just over two years ago, Dominic's mom passed away, and this is something we are still dealing with. Loved ones get sick and die, and kids notice that parents aren't themselves, they notice the tears, they notice that something deeply sorrowful is part of our world.
What is more, during the season of Lent, it's hard to avoid death. Lent is a time to meditate on Christ's journey to the cross, and in our home, we read our fair share of Lent and Easter books (recommendations coming soon!). Even just reading the Easter story--and especially from an illustrated children's Bible--the narrative and the imagery of suffering and death are impossible to avoid.
In our home, we also like to use Christian art to talk about the details of biblical stories. (Lots of kid's Bibles that have wonderful illustrations, but sometimes they skip or gloss over some of the more challenging stories and details, so we like to supplement with Christian art. Sometimes I use my academic training to search databases for art that is tagged to particular passages from Scripture, but most of the time I just use good-ol' Google!) One of the Holy Week scenes that artists often depict is Jesus' mother Mary holding his lifeless body after it is deposed from the cross. In John 19:25-27, we are told that Mary stood at the foot of the cross as Jesus hung there and died. John doesn't mention Mary holding Jesus' body in the wake of his death, but how could she have not? And so Christian artists have often sought to portray the unfathomable sorrow of this parent—this mother—who has lost her own son. Michaelangel's Pieta is the most famous depiction of this scene, but as a sculpture, it doesn't work that well for printing and showing to kids. So this year I found this Pieta by an anonymous artist, and I liked its simplicity. The kids and I have spent some time looking at it and talking about the affection and love it depicts--Mary's toward Jesus, and Jesus' for us. It's not an easy image to look at, especially if your mind wanders, and in this picture you see yourself holding one of your own children, the children whose faces now press themselves close against this picture and whose hot breath you can feel on your face. But what I love about the Pieta is that it transforms what can be a grisly, morbid fixation with the harsh realities of suffering and death into a meditation of love.
The special church services held during this season also raise the issue of death and dying:
On Ash Wednesday, we are told, "From dust you came, and to dust you will return." And children aren't spared from receiving these words and the ashen sign of the cross. Now, my kids have so far been more excited about receiving the ashes than reflective of its meaning. But for me, everytime I see those smooth, fresh-skinned little foreheads with ashes on them, my mind flashes forward to them being old and wrinkly, maybe not dying but certainly in their 80's or 90's, already having buried both Dominic and me, awaiting their time to make their own heavenly journey, and I can hardly handle it. Someday these things will start to sink in for them as well.
And then there is Holy Week (and any special services which your local congregation may hold): Maundy Thursday, with all the anticipation of Christ's imminent suffering; Good Friday, which begins rather dark and only grows darker; and then the silence of Holy Saturday. Kids who participate in any Holy Week services soak in the stories of Christ's suffering and death, they shiver with fear as the darkness grows thicker, they walk out of church in a way they don't on any other day of the year--in somber silence. I know not all church's offer both Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services, and not all families take their children to them, but for us, these have been a very important part of teaching our children the importance of Christ's great love for us, which works itself out in his suffering in the garden and on the cross, and in the soundless tomb.
So how do we talk with our our kids about death and dying?
All of this can be a lot for an adult to take in, let alone a child. So how do we talk with our kids about this difficult topic? I'm sure there are lots of ways to do this, and most often, my guess is that these teaching moments are prompted by a child's question. It's not the sort of thing a parent can really prepare for, except maybe by having done the hard work of dealing with the death of loved ones yourself. But one tool that we have used in our house is an old hymn for bedtime that connects the fear of going to bed--so typical among children!--with the fear of dying, and the prayer of this hymn is that we would learn to sleep--and to die--in anticipation of our awakening and of our everlasting resurrection. We sing this often before bedtime, not just during Lent, and our kids absolutely love it (and see a very dark video of Josephine singing the last two verses). The hymn text is below, but be sure to check out Wendell Kimbrough's recording of this hymn, which is our favorite (along with his entire Hymns & Friends album!). And please leave a comment about how you have approached this topic with your own children.
All Praise to Thee, My God, This Night
All Praise to Thee, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light!
Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,
Beneath Thine own almighty wings.
Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done,
That with the world, myself, and Thee
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.
O may my soul on Thee repose,
And with sweet sleep mine eyelids close,
Sleep that may me more vigorous make
To serve my God when I awake.
Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed.
Teach me to die, that so I may
Rise glorious at the judgment day.
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
But this isn't the first time that she's brought up death and dying, and it won't be the last. I suppose death and dying comes up often in our house. Part of this has to do with the fact that Dominic regularly does funerals—of the old, of the middle-aged, and sometimes of the far-too-young. Most of the time, the kids only notice that he's wearing a suit, and I tell them that Papa (they call him by the very old-fashioned name Papa) wears suits when he does weddings and funerals, and that's the end of that. But sometimes they want to know, Who died? What were they like? Is their family is sad?
But it's not just because he's a pastor and spends plenty of time with the grieving. We have our own losses that require personal grief. Just over two years ago, Dominic's mom passed away, and this is something we are still dealing with. Loved ones get sick and die, and kids notice that parents aren't themselves, they notice the tears, they notice that something deeply sorrowful is part of our world.
 |
| Pieta of Tubądzin Krakow, c. 1450 (Anonymous) |
In our home, we also like to use Christian art to talk about the details of biblical stories. (Lots of kid's Bibles that have wonderful illustrations, but sometimes they skip or gloss over some of the more challenging stories and details, so we like to supplement with Christian art. Sometimes I use my academic training to search databases for art that is tagged to particular passages from Scripture, but most of the time I just use good-ol' Google!) One of the Holy Week scenes that artists often depict is Jesus' mother Mary holding his lifeless body after it is deposed from the cross. In John 19:25-27, we are told that Mary stood at the foot of the cross as Jesus hung there and died. John doesn't mention Mary holding Jesus' body in the wake of his death, but how could she have not? And so Christian artists have often sought to portray the unfathomable sorrow of this parent—this mother—who has lost her own son. Michaelangel's Pieta is the most famous depiction of this scene, but as a sculpture, it doesn't work that well for printing and showing to kids. So this year I found this Pieta by an anonymous artist, and I liked its simplicity. The kids and I have spent some time looking at it and talking about the affection and love it depicts--Mary's toward Jesus, and Jesus' for us. It's not an easy image to look at, especially if your mind wanders, and in this picture you see yourself holding one of your own children, the children whose faces now press themselves close against this picture and whose hot breath you can feel on your face. But what I love about the Pieta is that it transforms what can be a grisly, morbid fixation with the harsh realities of suffering and death into a meditation of love.
The special church services held during this season also raise the issue of death and dying:
On Ash Wednesday, we are told, "From dust you came, and to dust you will return." And children aren't spared from receiving these words and the ashen sign of the cross. Now, my kids have so far been more excited about receiving the ashes than reflective of its meaning. But for me, everytime I see those smooth, fresh-skinned little foreheads with ashes on them, my mind flashes forward to them being old and wrinkly, maybe not dying but certainly in their 80's or 90's, already having buried both Dominic and me, awaiting their time to make their own heavenly journey, and I can hardly handle it. Someday these things will start to sink in for them as well.
And then there is Holy Week (and any special services which your local congregation may hold): Maundy Thursday, with all the anticipation of Christ's imminent suffering; Good Friday, which begins rather dark and only grows darker; and then the silence of Holy Saturday. Kids who participate in any Holy Week services soak in the stories of Christ's suffering and death, they shiver with fear as the darkness grows thicker, they walk out of church in a way they don't on any other day of the year--in somber silence. I know not all church's offer both Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services, and not all families take their children to them, but for us, these have been a very important part of teaching our children the importance of Christ's great love for us, which works itself out in his suffering in the garden and on the cross, and in the soundless tomb.
So how do we talk with our our kids about death and dying?
All of this can be a lot for an adult to take in, let alone a child. So how do we talk with our kids about this difficult topic? I'm sure there are lots of ways to do this, and most often, my guess is that these teaching moments are prompted by a child's question. It's not the sort of thing a parent can really prepare for, except maybe by having done the hard work of dealing with the death of loved ones yourself. But one tool that we have used in our house is an old hymn for bedtime that connects the fear of going to bed--so typical among children!--with the fear of dying, and the prayer of this hymn is that we would learn to sleep--and to die--in anticipation of our awakening and of our everlasting resurrection. We sing this often before bedtime, not just during Lent, and our kids absolutely love it (and see a very dark video of Josephine singing the last two verses). The hymn text is below, but be sure to check out Wendell Kimbrough's recording of this hymn, which is our favorite (along with his entire Hymns & Friends album!). And please leave a comment about how you have approached this topic with your own children.
All Praise to Thee, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light!
Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,
Beneath Thine own almighty wings.
Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done,
That with the world, myself, and Thee
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.
O may my soul on Thee repose,
And with sweet sleep mine eyelids close,
Sleep that may me more vigorous make
To serve my God when I awake.
Teach me to live, that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed.
Teach me to die, that so I may
Rise glorious at the judgment day.
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Tears. Tears. Tears. Thank You for all of this!
ReplyDeleteThis is so beautiful -
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing it
Thank you for this Kristin. These are not conversations we anticipate with joy, but they can be so full and rich if we let them unfold. And even though we have important work to do now, it's also okay for us to anticipate glory. The next part of this in my mind is starting to talk with the kids about what it means to die to ourselves, dying to our desires.
ReplyDeleteAgreed!
Delete