You know, there’s something profoundly unsettling about death. It’s like that annoying itch you can’t quite reach. Woody Allen once joked about the soul being immortal, but honestly, if my soul survives without my body, I can’t help but wonder how loose my clothes would be. But I digress.
When my 8-year-old son, Max, plunged into an existential crisis, I thought I’d be better equipped to handle it. After all, I’m a professional worrier. I could win gold in any “Did you remember a jacket?” contest, but the topic of mortality? That’s my specialty. I first confronted the concept of death at age 7 while watching Harold and Maude. Since then, I’ve been on high alert, always glancing around, half-expecting Death to pop up at the most inconvenient moments—like my kindergarten graduation or that one time on a volcano in Italy.
Becoming a parent didn’t magically turn me into a carefree soul; it actually cranked my anxiety up a notch. Now, my worries multiplied as I felt responsible for two little beings wandering through this fragile world. I kept my fears mostly to myself, hoping my kids would develop their own quirks instead of inheriting my neuroses.
One evening, while visiting friends in sunny California, I was exhausted after a whirlwind family reunion and a day at Disneyland. My husband was back in New York, and our daughter was sound asleep on the sofa bed. I was catching up with a dear friend I rarely see when I thought Max was nestled next to his sister. Suddenly, his bare feet slapped against the hardwood floor.
“Mom, I can’t sleep,” he lamented.
“Max, you haven’t even tried,” I replied, hoping to send him back to bed.
“I did! I just can’t!” he insisted.
“Back to bed!” I commanded, but he kept reemerging, pacing like a restless spirit for an hour.
Eventually, I found him sitting up in bed, looking as sad as a child can. I squeezed in beside him and asked what was bothering him. Now, let me share a little bit about Max. He’s a wise old soul in a small body. He learned to read at 3, devoured Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone at 4, and has dealt with life’s heavy topics far too early, including the loss of family.
When Max was 4, we lost my father-in-law unexpectedly. We sat him down in the park and explained death in the simplest terms. He blinked, asked about the body, and then promptly forgot about it when hunger struck. But then there was Nana, his beloved grandmother. When I had to explain her terminal illness, his face changed in a way that still haunts me. He took it all in, asked about her body, and even helped us sprinkle her ashes, processing loss in a way that was both heartbreaking and beautiful.
So there I was, ready to hear about whatever was troubling him, expecting something trivial. Instead, he hesitated, finally admitting, “I’m just upset that one day, everyone I love has to die.”
I must admit, I burst out laughing in disbelief—then quickly realized it wasn’t the best response. “That’s what you’re worried about?” I asked, still chuckling.
He nodded, looking both relieved and unsure about my reaction. I hugged him tightly and told him he was right: everyone he loves will eventually pass away. “It’s sad,” I said. “And it’s tough to accept. But that just means we need to cherish every moment we have together and fill our lives with fun and love.”
This is coming from someone who lies awake at night worrying about her kids falling off the roof deck of a house she hasn’t lived in since 2011.
As I left his room, I reflected on how he was confronting the inevitable while I was busy concocting absurd scenarios to avoid it. Max was brave enough to face the truth that we all have to part ways someday. I tucked him back in, kissed his forehead, and slipped away to give my friend a hug before heading back to the bedroom.
There he was, sprawled out peacefully, hair tousled, limbs akimbo. I nestled between my kids, listening to their rhythmic breathing, and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Life is unpredictable, and while I can’t control everything, I can certainly embrace the time we have together. And if you’re curious about starting your own family journey, check out this excellent resource for pregnancy and consider the At Home Insemination Kit for your needs. And if you want to learn more about home insemination methods, don’t forget to visit this informative post.
Summary
In a heartfelt moment, a mother navigates her son Max’s concerns about the inevitability of loss and death. Rather than dismiss his fears, she embraces the conversation, emphasizing the importance of cherishing every moment together. Through laughter and love, they confront the reality of mortality, reinforcing the bond that can help them face life’s uncertainties.