My great-great grandfather was in the funeral business and as a little girl, my great-grandmother would play “funerals” with doll-sized coffins lowered into doll-sized graves.
Creepy. But cute. More Wednesday Adams than Chuckie.
Fast forward to 2021 and I suspect Jed has inherited a similar gene.
Not only does he want to talk ABOUT our departed relatives but he wants to talk TO them as well – ALL the time.
Every day, multiple times, like Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost, I’m asked to channel Gramps, Pa Bill, Nanna “Doffery” (Dorothy), Auntie Ilona, Mopsy the rabbit, etc etc etc as they visit us from heaven.
In the beginning it was just a game, and Jed was curious and very matter of fact. Until one day recently when the concept of death registered a little more deeply.
The conversation started off typically …
“Mum, did Pa Bill die?”
“Yes, Jedi, Pa Bill died”.
“Where are his bones?”
“His bones are in Daylesford, but he lives in heaven”.
“Did Gramps die?”
“Yes, Jedi, Gramps died. His bones are in Merbein but he lives in heaven”.
I was expecting him to move onto the next family member but the conversation took a different turn …
“Mum, I want to see Pa Bill and Gramps”
“I’m sorry Jedi, but we can’t see them. We will see them when we go to heaven, one day”.
“But I want to see them now.”
He was sitting on Nan’s armchair, staring into the middle-distance, deep in thought.
I didn’t want to double down on the difficult truth, but he pressed again …
“Mummy, I want to see them.”
“I’m sorry Jedi, but we can’t …”
“But I miss them!”, he said insistently.
And then … as if a penny had dropped, his little blue eyes welled up with tears.
“I can’t see them now?”
“No Jedi. I’m really sorry”.
I leant over to give him a cuddle, and Dad walked into the room.
“Jedi’s sad that he can’t see Pa Bill and Gramps”, I explained.
“It’s hard for anyone to make sense of it, unfortunately”, Dad said with a sigh as he patted Jed on the head.
It’s so true. How do you explain it?
For the past few weeks I’d been telling Jed that everyone gets a go at life for about 100 years at which point they go to heaven to free up a space on Earth for a new baby. That baby will then have their 100-year turn at life and so on and so forth. But we all end up in heaven together eventually.
I have explained this to Jed as if I’m an absolute authority on the subject. When in fact, I have no effing clue.
For weeks I wondered whether I was doing the right thing by invoking concepts that I couldn’t verify. But now I’m comfortable with it.
Life is full of realities that are confronting. Death is probably the most difficult and mysterious of them all.
I can’t shield my son from those realities forever. As he starts to ask questions, I will give him answers. But I will also give him hope.
That means talking about heaven and long lives, even if I can’t guarantee either one.
I know there will be more questions as he comes to realise that it’s not actually as simple as Mum described. The 100 year rule-of-thumb doesn’t explain how a toddler or a teenager or a young parent could die.
But it’s a starting point that introduces him to the idea without overwhelming him all at once.
The fact I can do it like this is a massive luxury that many families don’t have. For those families, only expert advice will do.
But in our little world, I have become quite accustomed to channeling our deceased relatives. John Edwards and I should compare notes. But that’s not to say I don’t appreciate a break.
So I was pleased last week when Jed eventually changed the subject.
“Mum did you have a busy day?”
“Yep it was pretty busy”
“What did you do?”
[Man, it was good to be talking about something else for a change …]
“I did lots of things today. I made some phone calls, had some meetings, wrote a column …” I began.
Jed interjected: “Did Colin die??”
“No, I said column … ah forget it. Yep, Colin died. And he’s up in heaven, doing great”.
We don’t have a Colin in the family.
