Ever since our cat, Owen, died last month, my four year-old son Charlie has been obsessed with death.
Specifically his own death.
This has not been good for me, given that I am obsessed about my own death more than anyone else on the planet. My mortality is something that I consider on a (no exaggeration) hourly basis at least.
You may think I’m crazy, but I’ve died not once but twice and been brought back by paramedics both times. Had a gun was put to my head and the trigger pulled. I was also diagnosed with the adult-onset muscular dystrophy gene that eventually contributed to the death of at least three of my relatives, including my mother, and will one day effect me, too.
If anyone gets to have an ongoing, ever-present, overwhelming existential crisis, I think it’s me.
But now I have this four year-old existential reminder machine running around the house, constantly telling me that he doesn’t want to die. Constantly reminding me of the thing I don’t need to be reminded about.
Our standard response to Charlie’s declaration that he doesn’t want to die has been, “You won’t have to worry about that for a long, long, long time Charlie. You have a very, very, very long life ahead of you.”
There’s also talk of a heaven that I wish I believed in but don’t and assurances that everything will be okay.
It hasn’t exactly eliminated his fear, but it’s been enough to move him onto a new topic.
Yesterday morning, as I brought him downstairs, he saw a photograph of Owen. He walked over, touched the photo, and said, “Dad, I don’t want to die.”
Just what I wanted to hear at 6:30 AM.
I answered as I always do. “Don’t worry buddy. That’s not going to happen for a long, long, long time.”
“But Dad,” Charlie said, turning away from Owen’s photo to look at me. “A long, long, long time means I am going to die someday.”
Damn it. The kid understands. He knows.
Honestly, my thoughts of death are my greatest burden. The thing I carry with me like a loadstone throughout my life. My existential crisis informs so much of what I do. It makes me who I am. It’s responsible for much of my success. It’s the guiding principle behind everything that I think and believe.
I’d hate to think that Charlie might suffer the same fate.
I’d also hate to think that my son is going to continue to pick at this open wound for the rest of my life. It’s hard enough already without this beautiful little boy hitting me over the head with an existential sledgehammer on a daily basis.
I picked him up, hugged him, and did what I always do when my thoughts of death become too great to bear. I opted for distraction.
“Want to go watch the Octonauts?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. And for an hour or so, we sat on the couch together and forgot about our mortality. The reality of our eminent demise. The terror of the void.
At least he did. I hope.
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Read this one with a lump in my throat, loving children. can turn us to mush some times. You are so incredibly insightful. Reading your thoughts always makes me think, thank you.
Thanks so much, Sally.
I think about death a good deal too. I am a mental health therapist I frequently try to bring on an existential crisis in a client to help them find what is most important to them. In myself, I think my anxiety comes from being happy and being so deeply content and happy with the relationships in my life, and knowing that I will have to leave them. Acceptance of bad feelings is the key here. There are many things in life that feel terrible (and you seem very good at enduring fatigue, doubt, risk of embarrassment, etc. many people avoid these like the plague) but this particular bad feeling you REALLY don’t like. Be with it, let it sit with you like an uninvited guest that you have decided to give up on trying to get rid of. Then keep it moving. Tell your son that some feelings don’t feel great and it is okay to let them in to our minds, we don’t have to get away from them.
Thanks, Leigh. I find the idea that you try to bring on an existential crisis in a client to help them find what is most important to them fascinating. I speak about this in one of my TED Talks, and I do something similar when life coaching. But it’s a great way to phrase it. I’ll be thinking about this a lot.
oh but you sound just a little stuck. I mean we are all going to die. Fine, but what that makes me obsess about is where did i come from? What is me? What does it mean to be alive? I mean I’m talking to you but I will probably never meet you in the flesh. So in essence I am speaking to myself. Ok, so is being alive consciousness? Awareness of self ? If so does it always have to be dependent on my body? Why is being alive exclusively a body thing? If i cut of my arms and legs is there less of my consciousness? Am I less of me? I don’t know about heaven but once when I was meditating i flew out of my body (yes I did) through the top of my head and it was fantastic. It was just for a few seconds and i can tell you if i could do that again, I wouldn’t be here, opening up myself to ridicule. Then again I’m just talking to me. Whoever reads this doesnt actually exist for me so i have no worries. bye me gotta go.kisses and hugs!
Wow. I have to say – I think your obsession is slightly easier to deal with than mine, but only by a smidgen. Best of luck with it.
Distraction is very underrated. It ranks high in my life skills toolkit.
When I was 6 and my sister 4, I realized that our parents would die someday. My sister and I spent the day crying our eyes out about it- my sister on the floor and I on a rocking chair. We told stories about how it would happen and be all alone and that refrain would make us cry harder. By the end of the day we were cried out, soaked with tears and we both had headaches. Since then, that day has been a touchstone for me. Fifty-one years later, both my parents are still alive. I will still weep when it does happen. Somewhere early on in those fifty-one years, I realized that it will hurt and there’s no avoiding it. So its best to not obsess about it .
I agree that it’s best not to obsess over it, but the nature of obsession is that we cannot control it. Right?