Once upon a time (twenty years ago), I met a little boy who had no idea about the concept of death. He was a little kid who came with his grandma for my grandma's funeral, enjoyed my company, and stuck around throughout their visit. I was utterly shocked by this six-seven(?)-year-old boy who kept asking me, 'where is the dead grandma, when will she come back, is this the grandma who died?'(talking about any woman who came in the room), he even pointed out my sleeping cousin in the room, wondering if she was the dead grandma. I‘d never encountered a human so unaware of death, at least, he had to have some sense of judgment, right?
I was only 14 myself, with no experience in explaining harsh realities to a child. After a while, we went to the children's park near the home; then, I began to talk about death while we played. I told him it was a natural part of life and happened to all. I tried to explain that once someone dies, they can’t come back. In the meantime, I wasn’t sure if he grasped what I was saying, but the impulse and excitement that I felt to clarify a basic yet irritating truth that everyone else seemed to accept made me pursue my interest in the child. And I would only be shaken even more when I later learned that his mother took her own life in front of him. I’ve never forgotten that boy, and perhaps my profound agitation about the concept of death is somehow tied to that experience.
!IMPORTANT! 5-7 years of age is the average for kids to learn these concepts. At that time I hadn't got that knowledge, but still, it seemed wrong for him not to have a chance to cope with his mother’s death. He seemed a quite cheerful and carefree boy, I am deeply curious about him right now!
*Photos were taken during various archeological museum visits.
