Death Defying

How do I explain death to a child whose disability precludes his being able to understand abstract concepts? Noah still thinks his grandfathers are in the hospital. One passed away eight years ago, the other three years ago. In the past couple of weeks, Noah has repeatedly mentioned that he misses his Papa. When I ask, he acknowledges that it's both Papa Jack and Papa Murray that he misses. "How does that make you feel?" I've asked. "I feel sad." Noah always comes back to: "They're in the hospital. Can I make them feel better?" And I have to tell Noah that there's nothing we can do to make them feel better. It's too late for that. When Noah asks where his Papa(s) are, I say that they're in heaven. More often than not he'll then reply, "Can I go to heaven?" "No! No! Not for a very, very, very long time."

I'm never quite sure how much Noah knows, and Murray passed away when Noah was only five. "What do you remember about Papa Murray, Noah? Do you remember what he looked like? What color was his hair?" "It was white." Yes, it was. "What about Papa Jack? What did he look like?" "He had a beard." "And what else?" "A mustache." I take some comfort in the fact that Noah remembers these details, because I know it means he's remembering specific people. I tell Noah over and over that I miss Papa Murray and Papa Jack too, and that I know they miss him, and that they loved him very much.

All of this just brings into sharp relief for me the power and rightness of Noah's instincts about people. His grandfathers were two of the nicest, most decent, most loving human beings the world could ever know. And Noah knows that; he feels that about them instinctively. He may never understand what death is, but he knows better than just about anyone I have ever known or will ever know, what love is.