Princess Butterfly: How to Explain Death & Dying to Young Children

    

     I was honored to write this post as a guest blogger for O'Connor Mortuary.  They have a great site for funeral services that includes a blog dealing with death and grieving.  Check it out!

     

I used to feel like the word “dead” hung awkwardly in the air whenever I said it in the presence of my daughter, Zoey.  In time, I realized there was no getting around this word or its meaning and I shouldn’t be afraid to use it.  Death is a part of life and I couldn’t shield her from this fact forever.  When Zoey was about 3-1/2 years old, a dying monarch butterfly gave me the confidence to broach this topic with her.

Zoey at her first funeral

She and her dad found the butterfly near our house and they brought it home to stay on our balcony. We named her “Princess Butterfly” and cheered her on, willing her to graciously fly away, until Zoey lost interest.  The next morning I found the butterfly still, her wings flat on the ground and quite obviously dead. Instead of sweeping it away, I decided to use this opportunity to explain death and what comes after that to Zoey.

I told her that the butterfly’s body had stopped working and what had made Princess Butterfly, “Princess Butterfly,” had gone to Heaven. I said that up in Heaven she was able to fly again. I explained that we needed to bury her. We used one of Zoey’s shovels to dig a small hole in the ground. I placed Princess Butterfly in what would be her final resting place and let Zoey cover her with dirt. I asked Zoey to say something she liked about Princess Butterfly. She said she liked her wings. Then we blew a kiss up to the sky. She was too young to really understand the never coming back aspect of death, but this was a starting point.

Shortly after Princess Butterfly came into our lives we experienced death in the family.  My grandmothers passed away within six months of each other.  Upon each passing, I reminded Zoey about the butterfly as I explained their deaths and the funerals we would attend.  Naturally, she had questions and concerns, but I answered them as simply as I could and eased her worries.  It wasn't easy and at times a little heartbreaking, but I'm no longer uncomfortable talking about death with her.    

So, here are some “How-To’s” that I hope will be helpful for other parents as they approach this sensitive, yet important, topic with their own children.

• Use something tangible to explain dying/death

  .  Finding an insect (like a butterfly), as an example of something that lives and dies is good place to start the conversation.  When you come across a bug (or something that your child isn’t emotionally attached to) that is dead or dying, take a moment to talk about it with your child. Maybe even name the bug.  Then use it to explain the process of dying. In your own words, you can explain that dying is a part of life and that our bodies get sick or old and stop working.  Hold a mock funeral and bury the bug.  Let your own spiritual beliefs guide you in how to explain what happens to us after we die.

• Prepare them ahead of time for what the day of the funeral will be like

  .  This way they already have a handle on things they will be seeing.  Remind them of the bug’s funeral.  Tell them that there will be a casket in front of the room and that people will talk about their deceased loved one.  Make it known that people may laugh or cry as they remember the person and that it’s okay to do both.  If they will go to the gravesite, explain that the casket will be moved there and will eventually be buried, like the bug they buried.  Let them know the cemetery is a place where people can go to remember someone and leave flowers.

• Answer questions simply, don’t provide unnecessary information

  Don’t elaborate, unless they ask you to.  For example, when Zoey asked me what happened to the bodies in the ground, I told her they just stayed there in the casket.  That was enough of an answer for her.  I didn’t want to put scary images in her head and left decomposition out of the conversation.  This was best for Zoey, at age four, but based on your child’s age, discussing this may be appropriate.  As your child’s parent, you will know what information your child is ready for.

• Let them know it’s ok to feel sad and cry

  Tell them it’s okay to miss the person that is gone.  Ask them to share what they liked best about their loved one.  Talk about good times that they experienced together and what memories they might have.  Look at pictures if you have them.

• Make them feel safe, don’t make death scary 

  The last thing you want is for your child to be afraid that they or you will die.  It’s a natural response for them to have, but don’t let them be frightened.  Hug them, ease their worries and let them know they have many more years before they need to worry about dying.

This will most likely be an ongoing conversation that will get more complex as they get older.  Ultimately, we all just want our kids to feel safe and loved.

At each of my grandmother’s funerals, Zoey and I blew a kiss up to the sky. It was a great moment and it was then that I truly felt like I was getting this whole “death” thing right.

Going Home: A Poem for Grandma

     I didn't have time to write a regular post this week.  So, instead I thought I'd share the poem I read at my Grandma's memorial.

Going Home

In your mind you were younger 

than your eighty-nine years and each day

the passage of time seemed to reverse 

and you were returning to a time when 

your mom was still the center of your universe.  

The lines between then and now had blurred

and the home you had lived in most of your

life, no longer felt like yours, but hers. 

A little more than a month ago,

you told me you had recently visited her house.

With a gleam in your eyes and amazement

in your tone, you exclaimed that you couldn’t 

believe it, but you had been to your mom’s house.

You said, “I should take you there sometime.”

I didn’t shake my head at this, didn’t say 

you must’ve been mistaken or that it just wasn’t 

possible, because for you, in that moment,

I wished it was.  Instead, I chose to believe, 

returned your smile and said I would love to see it.

In the coming weeks, I watched you drift in and out of sleep, 

sometimes lucid and other times lost.

I watched you become childlike, needing others for survival, 

yet I was still so amazed by your strength.  

One day, I heard you mumble “mama, mama,”

and I was struck by how much you sounded like 

my one year old son saying my name and I longed

for you to feel the comfort of your mama’s arms,

the way he can feel mine.

Now that you are gone, Grandma,

I imagine you’re in a familiar place. 

It’s nearing dusk and your mom is standing

on the porch calling you inside.  

You are young and rush toward the sound

of her voice, the chatter of your siblings 

getting louder as you approach.

As you are almost through the doorway

she pats you on the top of the head, 

says your name and as your feet hit that carpet,

the carpet that you had been remembering, 

it is now possible for you to be there

and you’re home.