Exploit the youth.
The book suggests that you shouldn’t even be a parent if you’re not going to blog about your kids. Hah. Well, this isn’t a new one for me. I blog about what’s going on in my life, so it only makes sense to blog about my children, and to mention some of the funnier things that they say.
Unfortunately, the conversation that’s coming to mind isn’t really funny, simply because of the subject matter. To make a long story short, my mom hit a groundhog yesterday. It was on the side of the road and right as we drove past, it darted out. My mom was understandably upset, especially when she looked in the rear-view mirror and saw that it was still moving a bit. I exclaimed, “You can’t leave it to suffer! Go back! You have to finish the job and put it out of its misery!” As she is turning the minivan around, I helpfully add, “You should go for the head. It’ll be quick and over with instantly.” Well, as we go back up the drive (this happened on the drive that connects my brother’s school grounds to the main road), the groundhog isn’t moving. At all. So I get out and check on it. Thank god, it’s dead as a doornail (not that I’m happy it’s dead, but I am happy that it didn’t suffer very long), so my mom doesn’t have to deal with the unpleasant experience of deliberately running over an animal.
So I get back in the minivan, my mom turns around again, and we continue on our drive home. Not five minutes into our drive, Alyssa starts a conversation with us.
Alyssa: Is the head okay?
Me: What head?
Alyssa: You know, the head. On the road.
My mom and I: …crap.
We start whispering to one another. What do we do? Do we tell the truth? Traumatize her about the groundhog? Play along? Come up with something creative?
My mom: Lissy, the head is fine. He just has a little bruise.
Me: That’s right! His Mommy is putting a band-aid on his boo-boo right now, and then she’s going to take him home and give him some dinner.
Alyssa: Oh. Can I doctor the head?
Me: Doctor the head?
Alyssa: Yeah! I go home, draw a picture, get a flower and get a band-aid and give it to the head.
For the rest of the drive and up until she went to bed (a little before 8:30pm), we heard nothing but how Alyssa was going to doctor “the head”. She did in fact draw several pictures of the head, my mom’s minivan, my mom, Alyssa and I looking sad, etc. Today, she picked a flower. And tomorrow, when she goes over to my mom’s, she told me she’s taking the drawings, flower and a band-aid with her, so that she and my mom can go doctor “the head”.
Dan disagrees with how my mom and I handled the situation. He thinks we should have explained to Alyssa exactly what happened. His argument was that since I don’t shy away from making sure she knows the names of body parts and the physical differences between boys and girls, I should also be up front with death. I don’t know… I’m torn. On one hand, I agree that pretending and lying about these situations isn’t a good thing, especially since she is getting older. But at the same time, she’s FOUR. How do you explain that Grandmom ran over a cute, furry little animal and killed it without causing a lot of upset and drama?
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10 Comments
You gotta do what you think is right… But I don’t think 4 is too young to teach about death. What if something terrible was to happen to a close family member? That’s not something you can hide.
When my son was a toddler, I got him a gold fish with the sole purpose of explaining death to him when it happened to die. The fish ended up dying within a year and when I explained to him “death”, he took it fine, though I don’t think he *quite* understood (he was around 4 years old).
Earlier this year I explained to my daughter (month older than Alyssa) that the friendly stray cat that use to come around, was hit by a car and died. She asked many questions and I gave her the best age-appropriate answers that I could come up with. Not only did this teach her about death – it taught her just how dangerous the road *really* can be. She takes much more caution now when we are in parking lots/near roads, and has completely connected the two. But it didn’t traumatize her.
Unfortunately, about a month after the cat died, my nieces 6 month old baby passed away from SMA. When I talked with my kids about baby Shayla no longer being with us, my daughter immediately asked if Shayla was hit by a car. I explained to her no, she wasn’t hit by a car, she was very sick. She asked where Shayla went, so I told her the sky. As a star. Now occasionally at night, she points and tells us all that Shayla is one of those stars.
I don’t think learning of death itself is traumatizing.. that happens when a child actually realizes they have lost a loved one. But again, that can all be “helped along” if the child has a better understanding of death.. some type of belief. Of course, every child is different though, so ultimately it’s up to the parent to do what they feel is right.
aww- sorry but Alyssa’s reaction and obsession over ‘doctoring the head’ made me smile. I have an almost 4 year old and his reaction would have been identical. If something upsets him ,he does exactly what she did. Keeps mentioning it and replaying in his head and acting out little ways of doing it or making it better.
It’s a tough call..I think at the time you dealt with it in the correct manner, no use in upsetting the child further, they are funny little creatures and deal with these things in their own way. I think the time will come when you will have to explain about what it means to- death etc..I would try and work slowly on the subject-you have pets and well, sorry but it does happen. I would ty and explain it, in your own terms in your own time, without having a dead or dying animal for her to visual and place a terrible, frightening experience with it. So you were both correct-the situation was delicate and you dealt with it in an approprate and sensitive manner, but as Dan mentioned the subject does need to be covered. You can get childrens book that explain death in a non terrifying way..
good luck
Considering we’re a culture that is so deeply in denial about death, what you did is probably fine. That’s to say, I don’t think you did anything wrong but I wish things were different here.
I just wish we weren’t in denial about death here. There’s no dignity about it anymore. No dignity about age, or grief. I wish we lived in a culture where we could tell young children that death happens so they can learn what grief is and that it’s normal. Somehow we’ve come to think that death and grief is traumatic because it is painful, but I think that denial is more painful than anything else. We don’t share in grief, we don’t show it outwardly. We deny pain and grief, and deny that death happens.
Heck, there are parents who don’t let their children visit their dying grandparents! Visiting my dying grandfather is one of the only memories I have of him, and I treasure it. Now I’m rambling. But anyway, I’m not a fan of denying death but I don’t blame you at all. It’s hard.
I don’t think that what you did was wrong, but I would have probably told the truth. I don’t think I would have been traumatized by it. I agree with Dan that if you’re strong about labeling body parts and explaining the differences, then you shouldn’t shy away with something as normal as death. Alyssa being four seems about the right time in my opinion, you shouldn’t underestimate kids. Honestly, it’ll be more of a shock if she thinks differently and then is one day shown what death really is instead of growing and understanding that it’s just part of life.
I’m sorry if this comes off the wrong way, but I totally laughed out loud reading this! That is so sweet that your daughter would want to help “the head” LOL, and I can see my daughter doing/saying the exact same thing. LOL!!
I’m sorry I think that’s funny. But her wanting to put a bandaid on a dead animal…yea…I don’t know whether you handled it wrong or not but…iuno…
Aww, I’m so sorry about the groundhog
death (and sex) are things I think each parent has to approach in their own way. I don’t condemn much about peoples explanations in those areas. Though I will say it was rePUGnant to hear my four year old sister explain sex in graphic language after she asked her dad and he told her exactly what it was *gags*- my mothers first explanation for me was, ‘its when a man and woman go to bed together’, which sufficed until I read the gory details myself and the world suddenly was stained forever.
Death I don’t know how I learned about. I was only 4 or 5 when my uncle died. My mother and another uncle sat me and my older brother down (he’s only 11 months older) and simply told us, ‘—- died.’ I remember worrying about them and how much sadder they must be than I was, and thinking I couldn’t cry because I wasn’t important enough in the ranks of the death? I knew it meant he was gone forever, but even as adults it takes us a long time to register that.
People worry so much about how to tell, but you know I think a lot of kids figure it out in their own time.
I think how you handled it was the appropriate approach. I found out through my cousin dying when I was in first grade. I cried, because I didn’t understand WHY my cousin wasn’t coming back. My mother took me to his viewing and seeing his body unresponsive helped me understand the whole concept of death. Eventually, children learn for themselves. You usually collect bits and pieces through life.
It’s best to let her figure it out a bit more and then eventually explain death entirely. She will have problems understanding at such a young age, so I think you handled it correctly.
I personally would’ve told her about death and explained that you didn’t *mean* to kill the groundhog, but accidents sometimes happen. Of course you know her better than me (well, d-uh :D) and you also know how she’d react to being told about death.
My niece has known about death since she was 2-3 years old because of my mother’s death (of course, no one told her *why* my mother died – that kind of information can’t be handled by a child) and she understands that death means that the person who has died can’t come back anymore. She’s very bright and can deal with the information (although I greatly detest the fact she was told that Grandma Saara went to Heaven, I’m not a fan of brainwashing children into religion before they’re old enough to make their own choices) instead of freaking out over it but I do understand there are children who can not deal with the realities of life at such a young age. Alyssa will probably pick up information about death from here and there (and if she explains what happened to her friends, some may know about death and inform her) and put two and two together over time even if you don’t sit her down to have that discussion with her. *nod*
I’d say it’s a good idea to teach Alyssa about life’s realities before she enters big girl school because I know, on a personal level, that because my parents refused to tell me about shit like this, learning for me was just shocking fact after shocking fact and it greatly undermined my trust for the parental units, and also served as a great base for the wrong kind of kids to base their manipulation on, eventually leading to trouble. Parents are the ones who information should come from.
If you think Alyssa is ready to hear about death, teach her about death. If you don’t think she’s ready, wait ’til she is. I don’t think there is a wrong way or a right way in situations like this, it’s all about a parent’s gut instinct. If Dan thinks it’s time to talk to Alyssa about this, let him talk to her about this.

As the domain name suggests, my name is Jenn, and I own this blog. I'm 26 years old and married to my one true ♥, Daniel. And while I have two kids (Alyssa is five, and Ryan is three), you won't find "mommy" in my username or email address, nor does my blog revolve around them. I'm a mother, but most importantly I am me, with a passion for love, blogging, reading, and photography. I'm also a busy freelance writer, web designer & SEO goddess, and a blogger relations person for an adult toy company.





if she was older, I would have explained about death… but at 4 I think what you did was fine.