There isn’t a parenting book in or out of print that can prepare a person for their three year old looking them seriously in the eye and asking:
"When is mama going to die?"
You’re sort of screwed no matter how you answer it. Lie, and try to calm the child’s fears and they’ll figure it out and hate you. Tell them the truth, and they’ll be frightened, and hate you. It’s a question that cannot be handled properly either way so my best attempt was to try and reassure him, and then distract him with chocolate. God bless those Swiss chocolate makers. Good stuff, that chocolate.
I suppose it could simply be the lure of good candy, but this has now become a daily routine-at least for the past few days. We’ve tried so hard to keep unpleasant things from intruding in Danny’s day-to-day life, and we make a determined effort not to discuss such things in his presence. I’m really a firm believer in shielding young children from this sort of stuff-they have the rest of their lives to be worried and frightened over things they can’t do a damn thing about-why burden them with it at three? Still, kids are perceptive and well, one day they want to know when you’re going to die. I recommend keeping a stash of Swiss chocolate on hand. Mine are festively wrapped in foil to look like penguins. After Christmas sale. I stocked up.
Today he started the "When is mama going to die?" business while we were out so I did what any good parent would do under the circumstances-I pulled into Dairy Queen. In a pinch, a milkshake-while not as good as Swiss chocolate, will serve as a pretty good distraction.
We made it home and I climbed into bed. After a while, Danny climbs in and starts asking me when I’m going to die. By this point, I’m really getting upset because I don’t want to frighten him, so I try explaining that even if mama isn’t here forever, other people will still be around, and that Danny will be here for a very, very long time and does not need to worry about this sort of thing. You know, all the things the "experts" suggest.
Danny nods at me and then pauses:
"But when do we get to stick mama in the ground and cover her with grass?"
"Do you want to stick mama in the ground and cover her with grass? You wouldn’t be able to play with me."
(Excited, like I finally get it) "Yes! When can we stick mama in the ground and cover her with grass? Then I can play with papa! "
No more chocolate for you, kiddo. None.