A few weeks ago we strolled into a local pizzeria for a family dinner. A muted red carpet, upbeat pictures decorated the walls and every table appeared taken by couples and families. The waitress escorted us to a small table in the back. As I walked through the aisles, I sensed a happiness threading strangers together. In my periphery, I noticed a mom hunched over a stroller touching her baby’s cheek and the resulting giggle from new life experiencing laughter for the first time. At another table, a couple sat close together with linked hands and the look of young love. A brother and sister ran in between the tables with mischievousness only children can understand.
My daughter and I took a seat at our appointed seats, while my husband went to the restroom. On the back door, a painted Elvis with his classic white jumpsuit and matching shoes smiled at our table. Elvis is a common conversation topic in our household because my daughter shares the same birthday as the King.
“Momma, look, Elvis is on the door.” It took my daughter only a few seconds to notice her birthday buddy.
“Yes, I see. It is Elvis.” I fumbled with the silverware while answering her question.
“Momma, I have a question. What happens when you die?” My daughter asked this question with a determined gaze that looked to me for answers.
I hope she didn’t notice my mouth gaping open, wondering how she jumped on this topic when we were talking about Elvis a few seconds ago.
Parenting moments often arise in the middle of things. Several thoughts entered my head. I don’t really want to have this discussion right now. How do I answer this question? What is the right answer? Is there a response that will satisfy her curiosity? What about follow-up questions? How do I explain something I don’t even completely understand?
My foot started moving up and down under the table and my palms felt sweaty. My stalling techniques could not continue. I needed to answer her question.
“Well, honey, why are you asking this question?” I probed further to determine why her mind turned to this particular thought.
“I wanted to know what happened to Elvis. Did he go to the hospital? And what happens after you go to the hospital? Did heaven come and get him?” Her questions kept tumbling on top of one another.
“Well, honey, I don’t know exactly what happens.” Was this an appropriate place to talk about karma and the Hindu perspective of what happens after you die? I struggled to piece the right words together.
“I am not certain what happened to Elvis, honey, but you don’t need to think about that right now. Why don’t you look at the menu and decide what you want to eat?”
I know. I caved. Her question falls into the category of one that I am not ready to explain. There will be other opportunities to revisit this subject, but for now, my vision is centered on stretching her innocence for as long as I can. I want her to focus on laughing babies, white picket fences and happiness.
She will learn. In her own time.
For now, “I don’t know” felt right for both of us.
Image: Life is a precious gift by Doug Wheller via Flickr
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
They do ask difficult questions. I think our answers often depend on their age and like you wondered the reason for the question. Relying on maternal instinct usually helps us say what they need to hear.
This question took me by surprise because we were in such a festive environment. As she grows older, I know her curiosity will only increase and I will need to rely on my maternal instinct to answer her questions.
Important questions that we ponder about. She is intelligent and she will ask again. She has experienced loss of her beloved grandfather. Some things are hard to answer …. Xo
Although she was young when my father passed, she does remember. She also witnessed her young school friend lose her mother and I know that has impacted her thinking too. She will ask again and I hope that next time I will offer an answer that will help pacify her fears. xo
I completely understand your reluctance to take on such a big question in the midst of dinner out!
But I actually think you handled this initial question very well. You asked her why, which I think is crucial. Her response was about Elvis, not someone close to her heart. Then you simply stated, I don’t know, which is valid. She will come back to this, and probably sooner than later, and perhaps the conversation will be longer, deeper.
Thanks, Dana. I confess that her question left me with so much to ponder. With her increased awareness, I know this discussion will come up again and I hope that when it does our conversation will touch on the many facets of this very complicated subject.
Yeah – pizza, Elvis and eternity – what a mix. It’s interesting to me that you felt such a string of love in this place, followed by your daughter’s big life/death questions. There must have been an energy in that restaurant that night, and children, like our pets, are energy sponges.
A mix indeed, Barb. In retrospect, the energy in this restaurant did kindle a happiness that I do not necessarily feel with every dining experience. I love how you linked the words Elvis and eternity together – would have made a catchy title. So nice to see you in my space. xo
Wow, amazing how kids can just from light conversation to deep existential questions in a flash! I like that you answered her question with a question. I think it’s easy to read more into our children’s deep questions than maybe we need to sometimes. Sometimes asking them question to clarify takes the edge off. And I think saying “I don’t know” is an excellent answer, especially if the timing isn’t ideal.
It is a quick pendulum of questions that I didn’t expect, Rivki. You raise a good point about the origins of her inquiry – her question stemmed from a picture of Elvis (something very benign in my opinion). Thanks for the affirmation regarding my answer. I certainly struggled to respond to this question in the “right” way.
Rudri, why do they always ask questions like that at the most inopportune times?! Somehow if we imagine when we will talk about these things a very thoughtful, relaxing environment. Hah. She will ask again, but in a different way. And next time you will be ready to talk with her or at least to promise her a discussion at home and not in front of Elvis LOL!
I hope in the future I am better prepared. The environment did not lend to a discussion about death. My fear of answering this question will not be a factor the next time she asks and I assume Elvis won’t be a part of my audience. xo
Oh, dear. This is so true: “Parenting moments often arise in the middle of things.” I don’t know what I would have done, exactly, but I just go with it. One of my kids would have been okay with an “I don’t know” or a “We’ll talk about it later” or “This isn’t something you need to worry about” but the other is relentless. He doesn’t stop asking. On one hand, I want to keep unpleasant things from him but on the other hand I love his curiosity.
It is hard to balance, Sarah. It is difficult to encourage curiosity, but at the same time strive to preserve innocence. I agree that the dialogue differs from child to child and I hope in the future my answer will involve a deeper discussion. Nice to see you in my space. xo
Wow– kids are incredible and insightful sometimes. I’m a big user of I don’t know because often times it’s true.
Nina:
You are right. As my daughter gets older, I realize that “I don’t know,” will become words that are true and necessary at times. There will be many opportunities to discuss these topics further when she matures.
It feels right to me too. My daughter is only five! I’d rather she choose what pizza to eat right now. My grandmother died last year at age 100. It was interesting to explain it to her versus having to explain the death of someone very young or tragic.
Don’t get me wrong – it killed me that it happened and that I had to explain it, but I know that she doesn’t really think beyond it right now. For Scarlet, “She was 100 and very old and had a great life” is the explanation.
I know that will change but I kinda want to stall it..
I agree with you Tamara. Even at nine, I am reluctant to shatter my daughter’s perception of things. You want to continue to preserve their idyllic outlook as long as you can. xo
She’ll ask again, and you’ll be a bit more prepared. My kids are teenagers, and the first question they ask when they hear of someone dying is “Where they old or sick?” It always has been, because death from old age or illness makes sense to them. It makes them feel like they are safe, and when I have to answer no, it breaks my heart.
It is a heartbreaking question to answer, but yes, you are right, I hope to be more prepared when she asks the next time. Your response, though, proves that it doesn’t get easier even as they grow older.
Oh man, those questions do come out of nowhere, don’t they? You were smart to ask what made her think of it — sometimes I launch into a too-detailed answer only to find out a simple one would have answered what he was really asking. And getting more comfortable with “I don’t know” is a good thing, too.
I often find that the answer “I don’t know” works well for those complicated answers that she is wholly unprepared to understand at such a young age. Perhaps it is a reprieve for me too, because I am not ready to have these conversations with her.
I think that was the perfect response.