I am not sure if this post will come across as funny,
interesting or even disturbing. I
am writing it for posterity and because I myself found it an “on the spot
challenge” and something I want Toby to to be able to read some day.
It will come as no surprise that, as a palliative care
doctor, I have an unusual interest in death and dying. It is not a topic that we shy away from discussing at our
home. Toby’s first experience with
the topic occurred at age 3 when Jack Layton’s funeral was broadcast. It was such a perfect example of the
dichotomy of emotions that funerals hold, mourning and celebration, sadness and
joy, that I allowed him to watch it with me.
Before your judgment passes over let me say this - I recognize
that a political funeral would go over the heads of (and possibly even be
inappropriate for) MOST 3 year olds, but Toby has always been an old soul. He watched with rapt attention and
listened carefully as I explained to him how beautiful yet tragic things
were. I let him dance and clap
along to “Rise Up” and explained to him why Jack was going in a box, how
impressive it was to have the Canadian flag draped over it, and why his
daughter and son, and wife walked behind it. Toby was in awe.
He asked questions.
Two months later, when his great grandfather died I was so
thankful to have had this opportunity to introduce Toby to the concept of death
and funerals. It meant he wasn’t
scared and was actually able to attend the funeral of a legendary family man;
Grandpa Blonde, I’m sure, would have been glad to know that one of his great
grandchildren had been there in attendance.
Last night, on our way home after skiing, we somehow
happened again upon the topic of death and dying. It started innocently with Toby mentioning his curiosity
about the human body and how he wished he could see inside of one. I took this opportunity to pique his
interest in health care, the privilege of medical school and the concept of
autopsies. I can assure you – I
made it all sound very normal.
“Interesting…” Toby said, “So basically you have a choice of
being buried in a box, burned up or cut up by medical students. Are those your ONLY choices when you
die?”
I’m sure there's a culture that I have grossly overlooked that could have provided some idyllic choice; I
vaguely remember Rob teaching me about a ceremonial riverside vigil at the
river in Varanasi, India…but I wanted to keep things simple for Toby. I DID briefly mention the idea of organ
donation as another possibility.
Toby had another question,
“Before I decide which one I’d like, I need to clarify ONE thing." he said quite seriously, "Can you get into heaven
with EACH of those 4 choices?”
“Yes.”
“OK then here’s my choice, “ Toby announced stoically. “I do NOT want to be burned. I do NOT want to be chopped up. And I
do NOT want my parts given away to other people. Just put me in a box and bury me.” He said matter-of-factly.
Perhaps my Jack Layton obsession had some detrimental
effects after all; CLEARLY the opportunity for heroism and selflessness had
been completely lost on him.
I told him that I would respect his wishes but that I really
hoped I wasn’t around to see that happen.
The conversation petered out as we moved on to more
important things like what snack we were going to have before bed and what runs
we had done at skiing that night.
It wasn’t until we were snug in bed that night, asking our bedtime questions,
that it came up again, this time in more abstract terms.
“Mommy….” Toby said sleepily, “What happens if you don’t get
into heaven because you’re a bad person?”
I know there are lots of ways to answer this question. There’s the correct Catholic way, the
redirecting question and the abstract-avoidance-answer. I went with a combination of the above
and told him that no one knows for SURE but that what I believe is that if
there IS a Heaven and a God that he’s probably pretty forgiving and you
probably have to be really REALLY bad not to get in. Then I crossed my fingers and hoped that would be the end of
it.
This didn’t seem to satisfy his existential thirst for information.
“OK so say you’re really REALLY bad then where do you go?”
Not a concept I wanted to explore with my 6 year old no
matter how mature he is,
“Um…well…” I faltered…” I guess those people would go…maybe
DOWN somewhere??”
Clearly I had
moved from the realms of honesty to the abstract evasion technique.
He thought for a second before hitting me with another doozy
in quick succession,
“And what’s heaven LIKE, anyways? Is it all full of BONES?”
Oh good gracious.
I suddenly longed to go back to the conversation from earlier about
autopsies. Now THAT was something
I would be more comfortable expanding upon…I started to wonder if I could
reintroduce the topic…but his earnesty and the mere fact that he thought it
might be full of bones made me realize I had to give it a shot.
“Well, Toby…again, no one knows for sure…so I just like to think it’s all the best of everything…however you picture it.”
I told him my vision about meeting up with everyone you’ve
ever loved. Even old pets. I told him that everyone there was
always in the “green zone” (his classroom has emotion zones- the green one being the happy place where
you have energy and are “ready to work!”). I told him that you always feel warm and loved. As I talked I realized that I was imparting
to him something I HAD thought a lot about and that the uncertainty I had about
all things religious wasn’t necessarily important when it came to speculating
on something we have no control over.
“So Toby…” I said after my unexpectedly long monologue of an
answer, “What do you think of that?”
“Well,” my practical son said, “That’s very interesting mom
but that’s not how I picture things.”
“Oh, I said,” amused.
“And how do YOU picture things?”
“Bones.” He
said very practically. “Lots of those people made up of bones…what do you call
them?”
“Skeletons…?” I asked hesitantly
“Yes.
Skeletons. Lots of
skeletons wandering around and lots of bones all over the place. And every one of the skeletons has a name
tag with their first and last name on it so you can tell who everyone else is.”
“Oh.” I said, “Anything else?”
“Nope!” he said proudly, “That’s it!”
“Um…OK, then…” I said, at a loss for words. I know that Toby is truthful and practical to his core, but I just had to ask. "Do you find your version comforting, Toby? Or....do you maybe find it a little creepy?"
He thought for a bit and then laughed, “I guess it’s kinda
creepy! But I think it’s the
truth.”
And so we left it at that, ending our evening of heavy life
and death conversations with some laughter about the differences between our
two visions. I am quite confident
that he is secure and unshaken in his beliefs; I just hope that I don’t have
nightmares about them tonight …
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