Julian Sheather shares a personal story of easing his son’s bedtime terrors about death and the afterlife.
When he was eight, or thereabouts, my eldest son developed an intense fear of death. Without warning – at bedtime or waking in the quiet hours of the night – he would cry out in terror: ‘Daddy…I’ve got that terrible feeling again.’ My wife and I, although in fairness a little more often my wife than I, would take it in turns to console him. We would lie alongside him on his bed under the eaves – it seemed to help if it was raining – and try gently, clumsily, to soothe him. At times, seized with fear and disbelief, he would list all the people he loved – his grandparents, my wife and I, his friends, his younger brother (usually) – and almost physically wrestle with the knowledge that they were all, at some point, going to die.
Fear of death is infectious. Like most of us I suppose I have succeeded, most of the time, in pushing it to the margins of my mind. We may vaguely have heard that all philosophy is a preparation for death, but then not many of us are philosophers. Among healthy adults talk of death has a morbid, almost lavatorial quality: you tend to keep it to yourself. But ripped from sleep to confront a young boy’s – your own boy’s – appalled struggle with mortality, to hear him in the night confront so unprepared the basic terms of life, is a sobering experience. It rather throws you back on yourself.
During those long nights, the question of religious belief, of some possibility of an afterlife, inevitably came up. And I admit I struggled. There is a great deal of cheap, pre-fabricated criticism of religion knocking about at the moment. (There’s also a deal of cheap, pre-fabricated religion, but that’s another story.) If we are going to criticise any system of thought or belief then I figure we are obliged to take it in its best dress, at its richest and most serious. And fair to say that at its best religion addresses itself with great attentiveness to common human fears. Consider some of the great spiritual autobiographies: fear of death played its part in Tolstoy’s conversion; in Grace Abounding fear certainly had a heavy hand on John Bunyan’s tiller. So although there is a great deal more to religion than the weaving of tales to still our terrors, there is no doubt that for millennia religions have also spoken to our fear of death and helped structure a response to it.
I am not very good when I am tired. I remember saying to my son during one of his crises, casting around for something, anything that might help still his grief, that there were those (oh weaselling words) who believed in an after-life – words to the familiar effect that for some death is a horizon not a terminus. ‘But you don’t believe that, do you, Dad?’ he shot back.
I am not in the habit of lying to my sons, and I didn’t then. This is partly because, on the whole, I’d rather tell the truth. But also because lying would be pointless. They know me too well. My son’s response wasn’t a question, it was a statement. And so night after night we lay there together under the eaves until his anguish stilled itself and he fell asleep.
My son’s fear of death was with him on and off for several years. It took many forms. He would shield his eyes when we drove past cemeteries. He would suddenly call a halt to certain conversations. The TV would be switched off abruptly. He continued waking in the night cold with fear and my wife and I continued, clumsily, to console him. Somehow linked, he grew terrified of the severely disabled. He once bolted up the road when a disabled child was wheeled on a recumbent chair from our local surgery. Life was showing itself to him.
If I were writing this as fiction, this is not the ending I would choose. It is a little too pat. A friend gave me a book of philosophical puzzles. I can’t now remember why but my son was interested and I started to read them to him at bed time. He grew intrigued and I bought a version for children. And so we chatted about pigs that wanted to be eaten, and pills that made you win at everything, about rings that made you invisible and ships reassembled on the brilliant foreshore. And one night he looked up and said that his fear of death had gone: the puzzles had set flight to it.
It was one of those occasional, sun-lit moments you get as a parent when, groping around in the dark, you feel you’ve finally hit on something right. I am not quite so naïve as to believe that in philosophical paradox he had found a substitute for religion. Partly he was growing up. Looking back – this was a few years ago – it probably had a lot to do with the ordinary work of being a parent, the slow accumulation of all those nights, one slightly less-frightened human being consoling another. But I still like to think that in the face of some of life’s biggest fears, its most intransigent problems, he had found some of the breathing room that thought brings. And just recently he has told me he would like in the future to work with children – including the disabled.
Tears started flowing as I read this, because my 6-year-old daughter is going through something similar. I wish I it were easier. I wish I could make it easier for her by lying. So badly do I want to say, “Yes, honey, we’ll all see each other again when we die, it’ll be great!” But I just can’t bring myself to do it. In the middle of the night, when we’re all so weary, I have gone so far as to say, “Yes, I think the idea of heaven is lovely.” But she knows I don’t believe in it. I hate that harsh reality for someone so young. Maybe we could include heaven/afterlife along with Santa in the things we let little kids believe? But that doesn’t feel right, either.
Quite a few years ago my daughter, then aged about 4 or 5 ,started being afraid of death. Mostly due to an aged relative dying. I copped out completely and told her all about heaven. She felt better, i felt like a liar. Over the next few years we had many discussions about God, Heaven and what people believe. Eventually she decided that like me she didn’t believe in God and perfectly understood why I had lied to her as a small child. No integrity possibly, but I couldn’t watch my child living in fear, if only for a few months, when I could stop or ease it. Death is a big deal and its frightening for everyone whatever age. I knew when I told her about Heaven that we would having the same talk again and again over the years and that she would come to her own conclusions. No, i don’t think I did the wrong thing. I didn’t tell my children all about child abuse or rape or many other horrible things when they were small. I waited until they were ready to know.
As an adult sufferer of death fear from my child hood i wish my parents had lied about heaven. It would have stopped the dwelling on the fear and burning the fear in. Now in the quiet of the night that same old feeling creeps in and i have to shake it off or get up. However i was interested to read that the rain helps as I recently downloaded a rain app and i listen to that as Im going to sleep and the death fear does not emerge. Which is great after 41 years. When my oldest asked about death I told him there is heaven and it will be fine, and I agree with the father Christmas parallel. I will let them know the truth in good time when their brains are mature. Also i thought i might say that its natural to be scared of death because they are not ready to die, but one day they will be ready to make that ultimate sacrifice as we all must make for the benefit of our children. What parent would not make that sacrifice?
I was 4 when war broke out in 1939. During my 5th and 6th years I was rushed to the air raid shelter every night. My grandmother died soon after and when I asked if she hadn’t had time to get to the shelter my mother told me she had died naturally because she was old. I realised for the first time that people died naturally, not as a result of war. I was terrified of losing my parents and found it hard to imagine simply not existing. My mother, who had had very little formal education, explained that when we are old and tired we just go to sleep and it is lovely. She didn’t say we would live on or meet again, just that we would welcome death when it came because it was necessary. I have never feared death, in fact, aged 79, am quite looking forward to it! My two sons are equally pragmatic. Try it and good luck.
Julian Sheather’s story is an interesting one. He belies the true principles of humanism in helping his son deal with his problem. Rather than revealing his own belief and perhaps colouring his sons choice, he could have explained what other people believe and left his son’s choice open.
God Bless!
I’ve been through this with my 10 year old son. In the end the answer for him came through science (sort-of). We discussed the idea of uploading a persons consciousness into a computer and then a robot. He’s talked a lot about what all our robots will be like and how he will use DNA for anyone who dies before it’s perfected. I’ll admit that it is a bit of a fudge, but it’s not lying to him and it’s helped him cope.
I had a similar experience with a very old relative who, although an atheist throughout his life, had always been terrified of death. I pointed out that, as neither of us believed in an afterlife, there would be no ‘us’, and therefore nothing, no fear, no pain, no sadness or regrets, we just won’t exist anymore. I don’t know if it helped, or even made his state of mind worse, but he did say, well yes, I suppose so. I do hope it did help. Talking about ‘heaven’ or “feeling sure there must be ‘something” would have been offensive to both of us.
I think that it is much more frightening to think that we will be called to account for everyone we did wrong by some powerful entity and even condemned to a hell of some sort. Although, didn’t the Christian God sacrifice his son to save all believers from hell? One of the many contradictions that the faith systems seem to be able to accept.
I started feeling the same way as these children when I was about 10 years old – but I couldn’t explain it to my parents.
I’m 23 now, I wonder when I’m going to grow out of it.
I still haven’t and I’m 43! Still gut wrenchingly terrified of not existing. But I’m trying to be philosophical about it as it’s comibg for all of us one day!
When we are young, happy, excited and fulfilled by life … when we have our senses … our bodily health … our relationships … LOVE … we are fearful of losing all these things in death/dying.
Like many people, I have experienced a fear of death … but the only thing I do know if my fear reduces as I get older (I am almost 60 now) … and as I have lived my life in many beautiful ways … I know I will face my death a much happier woman. It is those people who die without a sense of having experienced life or achieved a dream. Learning to live in the ‘here and now’ brings us so much joy. Appreciating cloud shapes, the sun on our face … a buzzing bee … a laughing child … fields of wheat … a wonderful book … music (WOW) … the arts (where do I start?) … FOOD … good wine … our relationships … the other animals … and note that most of the above costs ‘nothing’. Once we have ‘satiated’ ourselves with the above, for many years, we start to accept death, even looking forward to it … particularly if the body grows old and the senses diminish. We can close our eyes ‘knowing’ we lived a beautiful existence …
Josh – I’m humanist and I feel that it isn’t a question of ‘age-growing’ out of it but ‘mental-growing’ out of it.
I become absolutely terrified of death and dying at around 8 and it stayed with me until I was about 21. I’m 24 now and I’m no longer scared.
First big thing for me was this philosophical question:
“Before you were born, you didn’t exist, and yet you’re not scared of what you used to be. Why be scared of not existing again?”
This rattled around in me for months before I realised that I hadn’t existed for millions of years and I didn’t know about it. I’m a speck on the overall timeline of this planet and I needed to accept that one day id be gone and it would be okay. Just like it was before I was here. It was ok.
Second, I believe that we get maybe 70 years here and it’s up to us to make a positive and memorable contribution – that’s how we live forever. It could be bringing our kids up to be open minded and non-judgemental. It could be doing charity work and changing people’s lives. It could be artwork. It could be science. It could be research. It could be a building. Similarly, we can leave lasting negative memories and imprints on this world and that’s how I live my life. This made me feel comfortable with death.
Third, I have two sons and I can see how much of me is in them already. They are 3 and 6. My body created, fed and gave birth to my sons who share my DNA and my parents DNA. My eldest son is like my dad’s twin!
We live on in our children.
We recently lost my father in law to drug abuse and his body was found in a refuge. My 6yo is far too intelligent to palm off and he picked it all up. He realised that his body was in the mortuary. I told my son that everyone dies but grandad was extra sad and poorly and he died early. I told him that we go to his special place to think nice memories of him and that he will always be a part of us if we remember him. He asked A LOT of awkward questions because his idiot teacher ignored my wishes and told my son about heaven and god which meant I had to unpick his confusion.
He’s fine with my explanation but I expect it to come up again as his understanding broadens.
You could honestly tell a child there is no proof that they cease to exist altogether once their body dies. You can honestly say there is something more to them than their physical body, call it consciousness/spirit/soul, whatever; there is something more to us than say, a rock which is purely physical. Whatever that something is, it’s who we really are and always will be. Cells of your physical body are dying and being replaced every second, but you are always you. And if our spirit is the same as all other forms of energy science is aware of then it cannot be created or destroyed but only move into another form. I’m sure a 6 year old would find that all simple enough 🙂
Problem is we have the physical and mental link. If the brain is damaged or becomes defective (Alzheimer’s etc.) so the person is affected. The fragments of information that build what we consider ‘you’ change throughout the lifetimes of the majority of us, I am different to how I was a month ago, hell, I can change within an hour.
The brain tissue generates electrical activity as far as I know that isn’t necessarily energy and can die.
The understanding of what counts as energy is much more complex.
I read this with interest, I am currently dealing with this with my just turned 9 year old. His fear is complicated by the death of his younger sister when he was 4. He is also going through some delayed grief which is of course entirely normal, but complicated by his sudden understanding and fear of death.
We do talk about other theories/faiths, but he knows I don’t believe any of them, and it is very hard.
I know we’ll get through it with patience and love, but I hate to see him suffering.
Thank you for sharing your story. x
I’m so glad your son was able to move through this phase. I had awful terrors and panics about death as a teenager, and they still happen from time to time – I wake up in the night in blind panic. I’d say I think about death every day, but it’s no longer debilitating. I feared the same thing was happening to my daughter a couple of years ago, but it seems to have eased off, for now at least. The mystery was why it happened to her when I had been so careful to avoid scaring her with my own emotional reactions. But, as discussed above, it’s amazing how quickly I fell into the security of talking about other people’s views of heaven to provide some sense of comfort.
Is there a chance that the author will reveal the title and / or name of writer of this book of philosophical puzzles ? It sounds as if it will be interesting and diverting 9 from the obsessive fear of death , anyway).
You’ve probably found out by now, but I would guess it’s The pig that wants to be eaten by Julian Baggini.
I must say, death is one of the most difficult things to explain to a child for secular humanists. I remember when my sons were quite young they were asking me about death. My youngest son asked me, “but we don’t all die, do we dad?” I didn’t lie to him, I explained that death was the natural part of life’s cycle but he was impressed and became very distraught. When they asked me what happens to us after we die, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them that that was end. I said that no one really knows and explained that people have different ideas on the subject like heaven, reincarnation, etc. I don’t know whether I was right to answer in that way, but you have to be very careful with a child’s emotional needs and development. They were already upset about the whole issue of death. Now they are in their teens, they have accepted the idea of death and that it is part of life’s cycle. For me, dealing with the subject of death was clearly one of the most uncomfortable moments of parenthood. It’s all a matter of getting the balance right between telling them the truth on the one hand, and not overwhelming them with information that they are not emotionally equipped to deal with.
Sorry, I meant to say “he was NOT impressed.” Pity there’s no edit button on this blog.
I must say I feel very lucky in that I was able at about 11 years old to make a conscious decision about death. I had recently lost two grandparents, and having given it some thought, decided that there was no point in fearing death, dying being the only thing in life that we absolutely have to do.
Later, I found it useful to think thus: do I remember what I felt like in 1920?; based on that, how will I feel in 2120?; why on earth would I assume there could be a difference? Even during my life, there are periods of non-REM sleep when I have no emotion, no sense of self and no memory of that time. Again, subjectively, how is that different from not living?
The process of dying, on the other hand, can be undeniably unpleasant not only for the person concerned but for those who love and care for them. This, though, is very different from the sensation of not being alive, or of watching someone dying.
I have to say that I have no decent advice on how to explain this to a young child. I saw a lot of my nephew in his very early years (he’s 11 now) , and because we lived in the countryside with goats, cats, dogs, horses and the inevitable rat here and there, there was a lot of death around. When he asked “Why isn’t that rat moving?” or “Why hasn’t [the cat] come back from the vets?” we were all very careful not to sugar coat the pill. Maybe confronting the inevitable death of pets is a useful tool against fear of death?
I recently bought my nephew The Magic of Reality by Richard Dawkins. Being of a practical nature, he dived in avidly. A couple of weeks ago he asked his mother whether she thinks there is a god. She explained to him that while many people do think so for various reasons, some have decided that there isn’t a god. “What do you think?” she asked. “Well,” he said, “I think I don’t believe in God. I believe in science.” I’m biased, I know, but he seems to show potential!
Yes, death is a tricky subject, but I think it can be dealt with by treating children as far as possible as intellectual equals. They are, after all, assimilating knowledge faster than they ever will do again, and much faster than adults are capable of. In my limited experience of children, they are far more able to grasp abstract concepts than we generally give them credit for.
To illustrate, I read this excerpt from Turgenev’s On The Eve at my father’s service:
“Sometimes a man will wake up with an involuntary shudder and ask himself: ‘Can I indeed be thirty… or forty… or fifty years old? How is it possible that life has passed so quickly? How is it possible that death has come so near?’ But death is like a fisherman who, having caught a fish in his net, leaves it in the water for a time; the fish continues to swim about, but all the while the net is round it, and the fisherman will snatch it out in his own good time.”
I found when young that reading the gospel of mark about Jesus help me to overcome the fear of mortal death. When I realised that Jesus died and God had raised him to life again so conquering death my fears subsided and I found freedom, I hope this helps.
Was it just the story taking you through the motions that helped you or did you have to keep believing and kidding yourself? Because not all of us who have seen the Bible taken apart can feel consoled, for one, the debunking damages it, two, the atrocious inhumane rubbish that fleshes out the book could make one only feel worse, you would have to blank an awful lot out(I for one found Christianity to be one of the least consoling religions). However the reading through something just to go through the thought processes can be quite therapeutic.
Christianity indeed provided this type of consolation, and if it works for you that’s fine. It’s an unkind act – I think – to try to take that belief away from someone whose life is made happier by it, especially if they are suffering from bereavement.
But this is Humanist Life, so the issue here is how to handle these difficult questions for those of us who can see that there is no evidence for anything other than this being the one life we have, so it’s up to us to make the most of this brief and wonderful period of consciousness. Other stories – afterlife or reincarnation – indeed help some people mitigate loss and meet the desire for some sort of universal justice. But wanting a story to be true doesn’t make it true.
This is the most brilliant and moving piece I’ve read on Humanist Life. Too often we focus purely on the intellectual, yet this touches on the essence of being human, of which intellect is just a part.
I remember my wife and I talking about death with our son at the dinner table when he was about eight years of age. When told that we all die in the end, he became tearful and started to cried “I don’t want to die!” two or three times. I suddenly had a flash of inspiration by looking out of the window and declaring “There’s a pussy in the garden!”. He was diverted by this and looked into the garden saying “Where, where!”, immediately forgetting what we had just been talking about. Very convenient for us at the time, but it can of course be difficult for children to deal with.
Our son is now 45 years of age, and we talk about many other things, largely his new job and his twin daughters, our granddaughters.
All these comments are fascinating. I think however that when the moment of death comes nothing matters. People facing death will often promise to do anything to avoid it. At the moment of death beliefs are nothing, principles are nothing. A few brave souls will stand up and be counted but you don’t know if you are one of those until it happens. Aldous Huxley came to the conclusion towards the end of his life that what really made a difference throughout life was one person being a little kinder to another. Lying to a child, not ready to hear “the truth” as you know it, is an act of kindness.
Children imitate adults, it is the way they learn life. If parents themselves do not have the finality of all life resolved, then it is difficult for their children to reconcile with it – and it takes a long, long time for them.
But how often in our adulthood we have not this task done! And no wonder, it is hard and painful thing which honestly has no real consolation. For every life wants to live and live on. And the rest are just words, words, words.
Nevertheless I find goodly consolation in the fact that it is now, in this moment we live, and now we can enjoy those we love, enjoy the world and enjoy ourselves. If we don’t try to enjoy this now, we will not be able to do it nor tomorrow nor in the possible eternity. For each “next” will become “now”.
So here I found the meaning of life: enjoying life now. And naturally: it is not possible to do it without any pain… A little pain belongs to the life and to its growth.
If I cannot love and enjoy life now, what good will be all eternity for me? But if I love and enjoy life right now, maybe I have been living in eternity yet.
A quick – and much delayed – thank you for all your comments. (I have been on holiday). As Tim says, the book in question is Baggini’s beguiling ‘The Pig That Want’s To Be Eaten.’ Thanks to Marius for the Turgenev. And most parents lie – we would probably look askance at a parent that tore the veil too early from Father Christmas. But religious belief is of a different order. And as I said, the cat was already out of the bag. My son would not have believed me if I had lied.
As an RN aunt who has been very intimately involved in the raising of my 10 nieces and nephews, this topic is but one I have been sought out to discuss many times, by young ones in my family. As I am a relentless agnostic and their parents believe otherwise, I talk about what is known about death and what is not known. As I have viewed dying and dead individuals more often than most people, I have a broader perspective that they usually want to hear about.
We look at the pictures of my 3 day old niece who died of severe birth defects, while I talk about what she and I both were like before and after she died. From there, we go on to talk about the limits of human knowledge, including unprovable mysteries, like what the edges of the universe are like, whether we existed in any form before we were conceived, whether there is any other form of intelligent life in the universe, etc. Inevitably, we conclude by sharing with each other what we would like to have happen, after we die.
Since there is no way to either know or prove what happens after death, I prefer to engage my imagination and theirs regarding the wide range of possibilities available in life and potentially, death, as well. Visualizing the experience of death one would like to have harms no one and provides at least a minor sense control over the subject. Most of what frightens children about death is the unknown, including whether they will be in any sort of pain, or not.
By sharing with them what I know generally happens to terminally ill people (pain and anxiety-control medications are used liberally), along with exploring creative possibilities of what death may involve, I believe I am being both truthful and comforting to the young ones I love. Whether their creative visions go on to spur interest in planting memorial trees, developing artwork, or any other related activities depends on the particular child and her/his developmental stage. This approach always gives us the opportunity to openly share our devotion and warmth with each other – something that eases the worry of most kids. They know their cousin is still loved, even though she’s dead, just as they will always be loved, regardless of where they are.
Wow, beautiful. Thank you for that. Great food for thought.
My eureka moment came as a late teen learning of the wonders of our biology, when I realised that I, and those I love are clusters of DNA, cleverly combining chemical building blocks for our birth, and being released back into the Universe gradually after death. This whole-Universe approach hasworked wonderfully for me in the 50 years since. I have watched my parents die peacefully, comfortably, without religion. Good deaths. My young grand-daughters (3-7yrs) don’t want to die, but understand the cycle of life and have independently decided that we live to be very old, our bodies wear out and then we get very tired and are content to die and just live on in others memories. They have decided that this will happen at the age of 100. As they have three visible generations ahead of them, this seems very, very far away.
My second boy at around eight years old was also distressed whilst expressing a fear of death and dying. We talked about how strange and wonderful we were to be alive at all, we talked about the cycles of life, but in the end what consoled him the most was when I reminded him that his much admired and loved Grandad believed in heaven and an afterlife.
I had no problem telling him the truth about “Grandad’s beliefs” as separate from my own, and the stories did console the boy and helped him deal with his personal fear of death.
It is not difficult to realise that all religious beliefs in an afterlife are stories told to distract from the fear of death.