Last night, my four-year-old unexpectedly posed a question I had anticipated for some time: “Mommy, how did Uncle Jake die?” I was caught completely off guard.
I gazed at my curious little boy, his big brownish-hazel eyes full of innocence, waiting for my response. When I hesitated, he asked again. All I could muster was, “Sometimes these things happen. Do you want ketchup with your dinner?” I felt pathetic, realizing I had over four years to prepare for this moment. What was I thinking?
Before becoming a parent, I often envisioned how I would discuss my brother with my children. In my daydreams, my son was older, and the conversations were beautifully poignant, reminiscent of classic TV moments. But in reality, I was faced with a four-year-old and a silence that felt heavy.
Discussing suicide is challenging even among adults, and navigating it with a child feels nearly impossible. After my son went to bed, I found myself searching online for guidance on how to explain suicide to a young child. One grief counselor suggested being truthful and saying, “He was sad and didn’t know how to end the pain any other way.” This resonated with me.
When I was five, my own uncle took his life, and I was told it was an accident. I sensed there was more to the story and didn’t learn the truth until I was 14. I promised myself I would be open and honest with my kids about my brother’s death, wanting to avoid any sense of secrecy or shame. Yet, now that I faced the question myself, I understood why my mom chose not to elaborate sooner.
Childhood innocence is fleeting. The wonder and curiosity of youth, with worries as simple as not getting an extra dessert, won’t last forever. Soon, my firstborn will start kindergarten, and the world will gradually strip away that innocence. Who am I to explain to him that some people are so overwhelmed with sadness that they don’t wish to live anymore? Even as an adult, I struggle with this concept.
My brother, Jake, died by suicide seven years ago, long before my oldest son was born. It’s often said that when a sibling passes, the surviving siblings mourn not just that person, but also the memories they’ll never create together. One of the hardest parts of his death is knowing my children will never know him.
Interestingly, my son has frequently asked about Uncle Jake. He imagines him in heaven, playing with dinosaurs and our dog, Max. He wants to know what games my brother enjoyed and what foods he liked. I could tell myself I should have been prepared for his question, but as my husband reminded me, it’s tough to have a perfect answer ready when you don’t know when the question will arise.
What I have learned is that there’s no one-size-fits-all answer, but many well-meaning responses could do more harm than good. While I can’t shield my children from all pain, I can protect them from unnecessary confusion for as long as I can. I still don’t have a clear answer for my son, and I’m not close to finding one.
For now, I choose to share the lighter memories: Uncle Jake loved playing video games, especially Mario, and he enjoyed playing outside just like my son. I want my children to remember him for who he was, not just how he died. I’ll continue to look into my son’s innocent eyes and admit that I don’t have an answer yet; sometimes, that’s the most honest reply.
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In summary, discussing difficult topics like death and suicide with young children can be incredibly challenging. It’s essential to approach these conversations with care while balancing honesty and age-appropriate explanations. Sharing positive memories before tackling the tougher aspects of a loved one’s death may help children understand and remember them better.
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