Some backstory:
A few weeks ago, Travis had watched a movie at his grandparents house that kind of freaked him out. It was about the Grand Canyon, and while it was mostly interesting and cool, there was a part in it where some hikers found human skeletons, and the thought of that unnerved him.
We had a talk about it, and it was okay. It was a good opportunity to talk about a difficult topic like death. Travis is a sensitive kid, and I try to respect that but also don't want to shelter him.
Some more backstory:
About a week ago, Noah was upset about something, I don't remember what, and had gotten into trouble and was in time-out, sitting on the stairs. As per usual, at the end of time-out, I sat down with him on the stairs to talk about why he'd gotten in trouble. He looked at me with pitiful sadness, and said, "I should be dead."
His sadness was something about not getting to do what he wanted, some game that didn't go how he wanted, something silly like that. Certainly nothing all that dramatic. And while I wanted to talk with him about his startling comment, I didn't want to make an overly big deal out of it. Mostly I didn't want him to start using that statement anytime he wanted to get a rise out of me. So I decided to handle it calmly and frankly but not too intensely.
I told him I wanted to cuddle with him in his room for a few minutes. We laid in bed and talked, and I told him I wanted to talk about his comment about wanting to be dead.
Noah loves his video games, he's crazy about Super Mario, so I reminded him that in real life, when a person (or animal) dies, that's all there is. There are no one-ups, there are no extra lives.
I know that mom.
That's why, even though it's okay to be sad, I really don't want you to say things about being dead. I don't like it when we talk lightly about death.
Okay.
Because death is forever. And because I want to be able to cuddle with you for a long, long time.
That's when he burst into tears. Wailing, uncontrollable, sobbing tears. I thought super, I've just crossed a line here, I just turned this not-supposed-to-be-intense conversation with my four-year-old into a totally grim realization for him that death equals no more cuddling.
He sobbed and whimpered for a bit longer, and I consoled him and I think said some useless comforting words, and we cuddled until he started to feel better.
Fast forward a few days later.
Tonight, at bed time, Travis and Noah were fighting a bit. Noah wanted to play with Travis in Travis's bed on the top bunk, and Travis didn't want him up there.
Why does TRAVIS get to be on the top bunk all the time?
Well, Noah, do you know how old you were when you moved into this bed?
Um....no.
You were two years old. And you were just too little to sleep on the top bunk way back then. So we had to put Travis up there.
Travis piped up, Or else you might have fallen out, like that happened to me that one time!!
I couldn't believe he remembered that. Yes, Travis had indeed fallen out of the top bunk once, shortly after he started sleeping up there, despite the fact that the bed has a built-in metal railing covering about 80% of the length of the bed, somehow, when he was four years old, he had managed to slide out of the little strip of unprotected area while he was fast asleep.
Noah said, Did you die?
We were all silent for a moment. I said, No, Noah, remember, if someone dies, that is it, they don't come back to life, so you know Travis didn't die because he's alive right now.
Oh, yeah, I remember.
-------------------------------------------
Fifteen minutes later, I was switching laundry over when Travis came downstairs. He's not the type to get out of bed past his bedtime, so I was a bit surprised.
He said,
Mom, when Noah asked me about whether or not I died, it made me think about that movie with the dead people, and now I'm scared.
Needless to say, I had another lets-cuddle-and-talk-about-death chat with another one of my kids, twice in one week.
Travis was okay, he was mostly just spooked out because he couldn't stop thinking about the skeletons from the movie, so I told him the best thing to do is to think about happy things instead. I said, "Let's think about the fun things we're gonna do this weekend."
Then I remembered that one of the first things on our agenda this weekend is the Zombie Run I am doing in Indianapolis, and thought gee, this may not be the best topic to discuss to my freaked-out seven-year-old who is a little too focused on death at the moment.
But, I've talked to him about the Zombie Run before, and he knows it's not real, and just for fun, and so I said, Well the first thing we're gonna do is drive to Indy for something that MIGHT be spooky if it was real but it's not really real --
And he broke into a huge grin and giggled and said, "Your Zombie Run!", and I was pleasantly relieved to see that thinking of zombies was a step in the right direction from thinking about skeletons and dying when falling from bunkbeds.
Then I talked about how we'll get to visit Aunt Courtney (and her pool) and some other friends (and their slip-n-slide), and the conversation took a delightfully happy turn.
At any rate, I seem to have gotten both of them out of their respective death-funks for the moment, but I'll admit it throws me for a loop when I'm in the midst of it. And since I seem to have lost my parenting handbook, I never really have any idea if the way I'm reacting to them is doing more good or harm.
I'll guess I'll find that out from their future therapists eventually.
