Honesty is Key
When my son, Reid, was two years old his father and I separated, and we moved into our own home, to try and make him comfortable in his new surroundings, I bought him two goldfish, Thing One and Thing Two. He used to love standing in front of his dresser, watching them swim around and around the small bowl. Unfortunately, I forgot to arrange their feeding while on a week-long vacation, and we returned to find them belly up.
I bought a dog as soon as I realized what happened, and when Reid was distracted with his new pet, I tried to surreptitiously flush Things One and Two into the Great Fishy Heaven. Of course, Reid walked in just as the fish were sliding out of the bowl, and he immediately asked what I was doing. “Finding Nemo” was his favorite movie at the time, and I contemplated telling him an elaborate story about his pets wanting to go back home to their mommy and daddy, but honesty is very important to me, so I swallowed my pride and told him that they had died.
At the time he said, “Okay,” and returned to playing with Cody (our dog), but later that day, he asked me what it meant when someone died. I didn’t think that this was a discussion that I would be prepared to have, but I have always made it a point to be honest with Reid, so I gently explained that sometimes, things just stopped being alive. He asked me if that would happen to him, and I said yes, that this was necessary, and that after we die, we help flowers grow.
Again, he seemed content with my explanation, until the next day. We were watching “Finding Nemo,” and out of the blue, he said that he wanted to help tulips grow after he died. I was amazed at the simple way he had begun to understand such a complex subject. When I was initially faced with the “explaining death to a two-year-old” quandary, I was worried that I would somehow screw it up, but I was able to explain things in such a way that he understood at the level he was able to, and I saw him mature just a little as a result.
Fast-forward to the present. I recently found out that my sister has breast cancer. When Jo started going through breast cancer treatment, she became visibly ill; Reid noticed and asked what was wrong with Aunt Jo-Jo. This was completely different from explaining the demise of two goldfish. I simply told him that she was sick, he asked me what she was sick with, and I choked out the word, “cancer.” Reid had apparently heard that you can die from cancer, and his next question was unavoidable: “Is she going to die?”
I squatted down and looked into Reid’s eyes. He looked back at me with a combination of innocence and earnestness. Drawing a deep breath, I replied, “Not if she has anything to say about it.” I reminded him how much we loved her and how strong she was and told him that there were doctors who were doing everything that they could to make her healthy again. My answer satisfied him, although he asked me about everything many more times over the ensuing weeks.
I am pleased to say that, after intensive treatment and a mastectomy, my sister appears to be on the road to remission. The day that I was able to share this news with Reid was a happy one, and although he didn’t fully understand the meaning of “remission,” he knew that it meant that his Aunt Jo-Jo would be okay. I’m sure that there will be many more times that I will have to explain difficult things with him, but because I have always made it a priority to be as honest and up-front with him as I could be, I’m confident that he will be able to handle anything that I tell him.
