Mummy, Will You Die Before Me?

Navigate Death Chats with Kids Without Spiralling into Existential Crisis

It came out of nowhere. One minute we were cuddling in bed, full of toothpaste breath and post-story calm, and the next…

"Will you die before me?"

I paused. Hard. Because it was 8pm and I wasn’t emotionally equipped for mortality questions. I’d used up all my emotional bandwidth negotiating over pyjama choices.

But here we were.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was a sensitive kid, too. The kind who cried into their pillow imagining their parents dying, who said goodnight to every soft toy individually so none felt emotionally neglected. The idea of death wasn’t just confusing, it was utterly terrifying. And I was probably around the same age as my son is now.

What my parents said to me? No idea. I’ve asked them. They can’t remember. (Which is fair, memory is weird. That’s partly why I now pour all my existential dread into Google Docs, disguised as blog posts. You’re very welcome.)

I even keep a yearly letter for each of my kids on their birthdays, ready to be handed over at some mysterious ‘significant birthday’ in the future, like emotional time bombs filled with love and panic. In my head, they cry and say "Mum really saw me." In reality? They’ll probably skim it, laugh at how dramatic I was, and store it in a drawer next to an expired passport and broken IKEA allen key. Still. It’s there. Just in case.

Back to bedtime.

My son is sensitive too. Sensitive, curious, and drawn to the macabre like a goth moth to a particularly haunted flame. I don’t know why I’m surprised. He can read now, which has opened up a whole new level of sentience. He caught sight of my book last night The Child Thief (a deeply dark Peter Pan retelling) and that was it. He sniffed it out like a bloodhound.

"What’s a Child Thief? Who is that man? Why is he holding a dagger? Is he the bad guy or the good guy?"

"Buddy, you’re supposed to be asleep."

He was not asleep.

We’re alike, he and I. I too fell in love with the macabre. I read ghost stories under the duvet until my torch battery died. I felt everything too deeply. Still do. And parenting a child like that, when you’ve been that child, is a real mind-bender. It’s like trying to comfort your inner child while also not traumatising your actual one.

So yes, when he asked if I’d die before him, I flinched.

Because the answer is of course hopefully, yes. And while I have zero interest in being morbid, I also don’t want to start saying things like “You just go to sleep and don’t wake up,” because then I’ll be explaining for the next five years why sleep isn’t death. And also why mummy is not a liar.

We discussed it as best I could. Simple, honest, but not graphic. I avoided euphemisms. I told him people die, but usually when they’re very old. And that I plan to be around for a long, long time…at least until he knows how to cut his own fingernails. (Apparently, a critical survival skill.)

He told me he’d scatter my ashes in the garden. Not Italy, as I once romantically suggested. The garden. Between the plastic slide and the fox poo.

Touching.

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How to Talk to Kids About Death (Without Accidentally Scarring Them)

Ages 2–5:

• Keep it simple and literal: "When someone dies, their body stops working. They don’t eat or breathe anymore."

• Reassure them of safety and routine. Stick to structure.

• Avoid euphemisms like “went to sleep” or “lost.” Toddlers are extremely literal. They will never sleep again.

Ages 6–9:

• At this age, kids begin to grasp that death is final - but may not realise it happens to everyone.

• Be honest. Answer questions as they come, and if you don’t know, say so.

• It’s okay to say that death can feel sad, scary, or confusing. Let them know those feelings are normal.

Ages 10+:

• Older children may start asking about your views on the meaning of life and death. No pressure!

• Be open about your beliefs but also encourage them to explore their own.

• Use books or movies as a springboard for deeper conversations.

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Final Thought: You Will Cry

You will want to lie. You will want to say “I’ll never leave you.” But your child is smarter than that. They want honesty more than they want comfort. I think we can give them a bit of both. And if you cry a little? I think that’s okay too. Death is confusing. So is bedtime!

Just remember to teach them how to cut their nails. Apparently, that’s the legacy that really matters.