Oh, how to explain death to a three year old? Is there any really good way? When Mom passed, Ben was only two and a half. It was “Grandma Mary was sick and now she’s with Jesus in heaven.” It seemed to work. We didn’t have to deal the all the semantics of it because Mom had been cremated. There was no body to see at the one visitation we had. Ben spent most of the visitation upstairs playing games with a friend and her daughter. Out of sight, out of mind, no questions asked, until now…
A great-grandmother figure in Ben’s life passed away a week ago due to complications after having multiple heart attacks over a week’s time. We had met up with her in the grocery store parking lot a few days before the first heart attack hit. Ben climbed right up into her lap without any prodding which made her extremely happy. (On a side note, Ben’s last interactions with people before they pass on are always happy ones.) Since we had been including prayers for her health in our bedtime prayers, I felt that we needed to attend, at the very least, the visitation so that Ben would realize why we had stopped praying for her health and so he could say goodbye. I wanted to prepare Ben as best as I could for what he was going to encounter. I’ll admit now that there was a little bit of selfishness in my taking Ben to the visitation. We’ll be going on a family remembrance vacation for my mother soon where we’ll be spreading her ashes. Part of me felt that Ben needed a refresher course on death so maybe he’ll understand why Grandpa keeps crying.
So, here’s the analogy I came up with for Ben to describe death…
Our bodies are a lot like battery-operated toys with batteries you can’t replace. As long as the battery has power, the toy plays music or climbs hills. Toward the end of the toy’s life, the battery starts failing and the music doesn’t play right or it doesn’t climb the hills like it used to. Eventually, all the power in the battery is gone and the toy doesn’t work anymore. We’re like that. When our life battery runs out, our bodies don’t work anymore. (This, of course, leads to the why don’t you just change the battery question.) Because our bodies are like the happy meal toys that have batteries you can’t replace. (This worked for us because he just had a happy meal toy we couldn’t replace the batteries in.) But God made us special. He gave us souls. When our bodies stop working, our souls get to go up to heaven and be with Jesus. __________ is now in heaven with Jesus and he/she is waiting for us to join them when our life battery runs out. (Of course, this could lead to a fear that their or your life battery is going to run out soon.) Only God knows when someone’s life battery is going to run out. Most people’s life batteries last a long time.
Even after this, Ben still didn’t get it until we had placed a flower on the coffin. Ben told me that where we had put it was a good place because she’d see it when she woke up. I had to remind him that her life battery had run out and that her body wasn’t going to wake up. He was quiet for a little while as I think he got it.
Today, I forgot a meal that I was bringing in to church for my friend to pick up. We had time to go back home to get it without being late for church. Ben asked why were we bringing food. I had to remind him that she was very sad because she’d lost her mommy and people were bringing food so she wouldn’t have to worry about what she was going to make for dinner. In a sad voice, Ben said, I miss her. I told him that I missed her, too, but that she was in heaven waiting for us.
I’m pretty sure Ben gets death and it’s not a scary, fearful thing for him. This should help Ben understand what this rememberance vacation is all about.