I was reading Impossible Creatures with my son when we reached a scene of sudden tragedy—a beloved animal companion had died. “How are you doing with this?” I asked him.
He blinked several times, eyes distant, his body still. Then, as if something in him broke open, he began to cry—full-bodied sobs—for fear that our kitten might one day die, too.
Every instinct in me wanted to rush to reassure him: She’s fine, she’s young, she’s healthy. But I paused. I reminded myself that grief isn’t something to fix. It’s something to feel.
That's a lesson I've personally learned as I've navigated life after the loss of my mother, who died 10 years ago on September 27th. Grief is painful, and it's natural to want to run away from it. But pausing and learning how to be with grief is what stretches us into deeper versions of ourselves—more compassionate, more present, more alive.
So instead, I told him, “It’s only because we’ve loved so deeply that we can feel so sad when someone we care about dies. The heartbreak of grief is really just the depth of our love.”
We sat there quietly for a bit, both of us thinking about how something—or someone—can be gone and still feel close at the same time. Unexpectedly, this story opened a conversation about both the absence of someone’s presence and the reminder of the love that remains.
I told him, “When we grieve, we can feel the pain of what’s missing and the warmth of what still lives inside us. Both are true.” He nodded, wiping his tears, and said softly, “I want to think about the love part right now.”
That’s the thing about grief—it’s not meant to be avoided. The loss and the love are meant to be held, with tenderness and reverence. When it comes to kids and grief, we tend to think it's not a conversation for them. But it is. And they need you to stay present—especially in these important moments—to help them build emotional strength that lasts a lifetime.
This is not a conversation you need to do perfectly to do it well. If you can stay supportive and hopeful, you’ll do more than enough to help your child feel safe and grounded, even in something as uprooting as grief and loss.
And that’s exactly what my book Parent Yourself First helps you do—meet these moments with presence, compassion, and clarity. It’s not a book about polished parenting strategies. It’s a guide to caring for the child within you, so you can better understand the one in front of you.
Parent Yourself First supports your growth in learning how to:
- heal your inner child wounds and break familial patterns that no longer work for you
- recognize the emotions underneath your child’s behavior
- respond from empathy rather than reactivity
- nurture healthier relationships across your family—between siblings, partners, and for yourself
When you can make space for your own feelings, you naturally make space for your child’s, too—even the heavy ones like grief. That’s why talking about death—honestly, calmly, and compassionately—is one of the greatest gifts we can give our children.
Why Talking About Death Matters for Your Child’s Mental Health
Death is one of the few universal experiences—yet many parents freeze when their child asks about it. We want to protect them from pain, but when we avoid conversations about death, we unintentionally teach them that grief and sadness are too big or too scary to handle.
For example, just days after my mom died, my cousin—who was about four years old—asked me, “Where did Aunt Sharri go?” Children experience grief, and they deserve simple, honest words to help them make sense of it. I told him that when someone’s body stops working, they die. He said, “I’m sad. I miss her.”
I nodded and agreed, “I miss her, too.” And we just paused in the missing of someone we both loved.
Once the moment passed, he went right back to playing with his trucks—which is precisely how children process grief and loss: one spoonful at a time.
Children need support to understand death in order to process it. Avoiding the topic can lead to confusion, anxiety, or fears about separation and safety.
Talking openly supports your child’s mental health and helps them develop emotional literacy, empathy, and resilience. Just this morning, my own four-year-old announced over breakfast, “When I’m in the ground, Mommy, you won’t have to worry, because my heart will always be with yours.”
Did I enjoy hearing that? No—that was not the gut punch I needed at 7 a.m. But am I proud that these lessons are starting to take root? Yes.
When parents approach death with calm and honesty, children learn that grief is not dangerous or something to fear—it’s simply part of loving and being human.
How Children Understand Death at Different Ages
A child's understanding of death evolves as their cognitive and emotional capacities grow. This is why I suggest choosing language that’s developmentally appropriate—something that comforts your child and meets them where they’re at, without adding to their confusion.
Here’s how that typically looks at different ages:
Younger children (ages 3–6) often believe death is reversible or temporary.
They may ask when the person or pet is “coming back.” This is because they don’t yet have a concrete sense of time or permanence—those concepts are still too abstract for the young mind. That’s why you can speak plainly about death with a young child, and they’ll generally accept what you tell them, even if they don’t fully understand it.
School-age children (7–10) begin to understand that death is permanent, but may still think certain actions can cause or prevent it.
This is why my 7-year-old has an entire plan to beat “the robots”—his imaginary villains who might one day try to take over—including underground tunnels and strategies to “trick” them. When I hear his elaborate escape plan, I’m reminded that there’s still a distance from the finality of death, because kids this age often believe they’re invincible. Their mortality is not top of mind—but being fully alive is.
Preteens and teens grasp death's finality and may wrestle with existential questions—"Why do people die?" "What happens after?"
I remember this vividly from my own adolescence. When I was in high school, a classmate died of a rare brain tumor. I didn’t know what to say or how to react. I wanted to avoid it altogether because it felt unbearably unfair that someone so young and kind could die so quickly and tragically. I struggled to connect with the religious explanations my community offered about the afterlife, and it left me feeling lost and unsure of how to face death at all.
Whatever their age, death and loss can bring up many different emotions. Some kids carry on without many changes to their general demeanor, while others may be visibly distressed. That’s okay. Grief has many sides to it.
A grieving child isn’t necessarily crying or overwhelmed; sometimes, they’re frozen, anxious, or angry. All of these are normal responses to grief and loss. The more you can name it and frame it for your child, the easier it will be for them to process what they’re feeling.
The key to helping your children grieve at any stage is to remain patient, communicate honestly, and keep your message hopeful.
What to Say When a Loved One Dies
When someone dies, simple, clear language is best. Euphemisms like “passed away” can confuse children, especially younger ones.
I once worked with a child whose father died when he was just three years old. His mom, trying to protect him, told him that Daddy was “sleeping.” Soon after, he began avoiding sleep altogether, terrified he might not wake up either. Together, we read books like Something Very Sad Happened and The Invisible String to help him make sense of his world—and to give language to what felt too big to hold.
Here's language you can use with your child to help them process death:
- “They died. Their body stopped working.”
- “A sad thing happened. Do you want to talk about it?”
- “Missing someone is normal. It's okay to wish that they were here.”
That’s the power of honest words. They help children feel safer because they can trust what’s true.
Let your child lead the conversation. If they ask the same question over and over, it’s a sign they’re still trying to understand — or that they’re feeling unsettled and need reassurance. Either way, stay patient and keep answering simply and calmly.
And if you feel stuck, it’s okay to lean on outside support. Gentle shows like Elmo or Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood, or picture books that explore grief and loss, can help you both find words for what feels hard to say.
Helping Children Cope With Grief and Loss
When a loved one dies, what children need most isn’t a perfect explanation — it’s a steady, compassionate presence. They don’t need us to have all the answers or to rush in with comforting clichés.
What helps is when we can stay grounded through grief’s many waves — what Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and later grief researchers described as sadness, anger, bargaining, and acceptance. Not as fixed stages, but as feelings that come and go. Our steadiness teaches children that all of these emotions are safe to feel. Here’s how to help them through it:
- Stay close. Kids often need proximity more than words. A soft hug, a gentle back rub, or simply sitting nearby communicates, You’re safe. I’m here.
- Name their emotions. “You’re wondering what you can do to bring them back. It hurts to remember that we can’t see them anymore.” Labeling their feelings builds emotional vocabulary and helps them make sense of what’s happening inside.
- Create rituals. Light a candle, share stories, draw pictures, or visit a favorite place to honor the loved one. In our family, we ring a wind chime to “call in” my mom, eat burgers and fries on her birthday, and shout “Hi, SharBear!” whenever we see a Monarch butterfly. Simple rituals like these turn absence into love.
- Encourage expression. Younger children may work through grief in play or art. Teens might write, make music, or crave solitude. All forms of creative expression help release the feelings that words can’t yet carry.
Remember, there’s no timeline for grief, and healing isn’t linear. Children might seem fine one day and heartbroken the next. That’s not regression — it’s the rhythm of mourning. Our job isn’t to fix the pain, but to help them live fully with love that endures beyond loss.
When You’re Grieving, Too
Supporting your child through grief while carrying your own loss can feel almost unbearable. You might worry that showing your sadness will be too much for your child to handle. You might feel pressure to hold it all together—to stay strong so your child won’t fall apart.
Take a breath. Your grief isn’t making anything worse. When expressed in safe, anchored ways, it actually helps your child learn that hard emotions can be lived with—and shared. Bearing witness to grief, our own or someone else’s, expands our capacity to face life’s hardest moments without feeling so alone in them.
When your child sees you cry and recover, they learn that sadness is survivable. That emotions are safe to feel and express. That love and loss can coexist.
This is where deeper healing begins: tending to your own pain so you can hold theirs with steadiness. When you give yourself care—through reflection, support, or rest—you stay grounded through your child’s hardest questions and biggest feelings.
The Bottom Line: Choosing Love Over Fear
You can’t protect your child from every heartbreak. But you can show them that love and pain can coexist—that when someone we love dies, the love doesn’t disappear. It transforms into something new: memory, connection, and meaning.
That’s what emotional resilience really is—the ability to stay open, even when it hurts.
But to teach that kind of strength, you have to feel it first. You have to know how to stay grounded in your own emotions so that when your child asks the hardest questions or cries the biggest tears, you can meet them with presence instead of panic.
That’s the work I teach in Parent Yourself First—how to care for your inner world so you can lead your family with calm, compassion, and confidence. It’s a guide to:
- recognizing the old wounds that fuel reactivity or self-blame,
- repairing when you lose patience or say something you regret, and
- modeling for your child what steady, loving leadership looks like.
The Conscious Mommy approach isn’t about perfection or getting it right. It’s about daring to heal, daring to attune, and daring to lead your children toward the bright futures they deserve.
And when you can meet your own sorrow with tenderness, you show your child that they can too—not by avoiding the pain, but by trusting the love that endures it.
Relevant Resources:
🔗 Talking With Children About the State of the World Exclusive Access inside the Conscious Mommy Community
📘Parent Yourself First: In stores now – order your copy and learn how to Raise Confident, Compassionate Kids By Becoming the Parent You Wish You’d Had. The guidance is practical, actionable, and straightforward. Your path to healing starts now.
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