I never thought I’d find myself writing about death, at least not in such a public space. But, as entering into conversations of death has become somewhat of a weekly norm in our house, I’ve found myself in a new place.
So, today, I’m excited to have my first piece up at CT Women, which also happens to be a piece that points to talking to my kids about death. I know it’s a week of pointing you here, there and everywhere around the inter webs, but that’s sometimes how it goes when various articles all seem to run at once.
Click here to read the article in its entirety, or check out the first two paragraphs below:
Conversations about death have become the weekly norm in our house.
This hasn’t always been the case, of course. It started last March when our family of four flew on a small regional jet from Jackson, Mississippi, to Atlanta, Georgia. Upon landing, my husband, James, did what any normal person would do on his or her birthday: He powered on his iPhone and opened up Facebook, expecting comments and well wishes of another year lived to the fullest. But none of us—not him, not me, not our sons, and certainly not the 40 other passengers on the plane—expected his tears.
Curious as to what happened next? Click here to read the rest.
(Also, this article was, of course, published with permission from the HBH (Hot Black Husband), and we appreciate your support as we make public the things that are sometimes hard to digest).
So, how do YOU talk to your kids about death? No matter their ages, how do you broach the subject?