Ben hits us with the heavy question

It had been going on for months,  Ben sporadically complaining of difficulty falling asleep. He'd be very concerned that Mark and I might fall asleep before him, checking again and again before he'd go to bed- "What are you guys going to do - read, watch TV?" In the summer it was a particular problem because we relax Ben's bedtime rules, letting him stay up until 10:00 some nights, and all three of us often would go to bed at the same time. Those nights I'd be liable to stumble over him sleeping on our floor on a mid-night trip to the bathroom.

We questioned Ben again and again trying to pinpoint his anxiety. He'd just mumble something about not knowing. Finally, one night last week Ben came into our room after trying and failing to fall asleep. He told us he was afraid to die, afraid that he'll die and won't remember anything of his life, that someone he love will die. Wow, heavy. Of course, this isn't the first time Ben's brought up death. When he was younger, he watched "Mickey's Christmas Carol" and was good and terrified after taking in the scene of the Ghost of Christmas Future pushing Scrooge McDuck into an open grave.

Obviously Ben's grown and learned a lot since that viewing. I could tell that this really was weighing on him and that he'd been thinking about it a lot. My oldest is right at the age where he's beginning to understand the immutability and irreversibility of death. I remember going through a similar spell at his age. I was particularly afraid that I would lose one of my parents (though fear of my own demise gripped me when I was a little older).

Our conversation tugged at my heart because it immediately struck me that this is one fear that I can't take away for him. I can't fix it for him. Sure, I can reiterate what our faith teaches us about death, but I don't particularly remember that making it feel less scary for me. I recall my friend's father talking about the fact that Jesus could come back and the world could end any time. He talked about it like it was a good thing, and I was gobsmacked. The idea frankly terrified me.

It's taken me years to accept and become more comfortable with the fact that I and everyone I love will die. At 35, the idea isn't frightening to me the way it once was (though obviously contemplating losing a loved one is no less devastating). So for my part, I tried to impart to Ben that death probably won't always feel so scary for him.

After our conversation, I did a little research on talking to kids about death. Don't sugarcoat the topic, one website urged. Convey that death simply is part of life. Reassure the child that he and you, his parents, will live for a long, long time. The fact that you can't promise this matters little, one site noted.

I think Mark and I did most of this. At the end of our talk, I told Ben that I was glad he brought his fears to us. I told him that worries that are left inside to fester often just grow and grow and that just bringing them out in the open can help immensely. I hope this is true for him. I know that this question is one of many difficult ones that will cross Ben's mind as he grows, and I hope for the good grace to answer each one honestly and intelligently.