For a period of time as I was growing up, I was forced to share a room with my brother who is three years younger. It wasn’t so terrible, but given the fact that we were not of the same gender, it was a situation that didn’t need to last forever.

My parents had been told they would never have children. Believing the medical professionals actually knew what they were talking about, the house they constructed only had two bedrooms—one for them and one for any guests who might be spending the night.  A year later, the first semi-permanent one arrived (that would be me) followed three years and two and one-half months later by my brother.  Unless one of us slept on the couch, we both had to be in the same room.

Being children, we were prone to playing at bedtime . . . and long after bedtime. Separation was not an option so my mother would come to the bedroom door and threaten us with dire consequences if we did not get quiet and go to sleep. Their bedroom was just down a short hall from ours and the den was next to the living room which was also just down the hall, so any commotion on our part was promptly heard on theirs.  Eventually, she found the optimal punishment for our untimely rowdiness—darkness.  She would come to the door and sternly tell us that, if we did not get quiet and go to sleep, she would turn out the lights and shut the door (the light in the hall stayed on so we could find the bathroom if needed, and the bedroom door usually stayed open).

And then she would demonstrate what absolute darkness actually looked like. And felt like.

I’m sure she never intended to warp me even though she was telling me being in the dark where I could not see my hand in front of my face was a terrible thing.  That was the lesson I learned—and then she did not understand later on why I feared it so.  It must not have affected my brother as drastically; if I remember correctly, when we finally moved into separate rooms, he preferred to be immersed in total darkness without the slightest speck of light.  I had to have a night light.  Actually, a night lamp.  I still do if I’m by myself for whatever reason.  I firmly believe those things that go bump in the night cannot get me if I see them first.

In their defense, there are a great many things in this world my parents never taught me to fear . . . spiders, snakes, storms (I learned that one on my own), driving really fast (the highway patrol taught me that one), commitment, hard work . . . and death. Whether or not we realize it, we do our children a great disservice when we teach them to fear those things that are inevitable and which we cannot change.  And remember, they learn more from our example than from our words.  So if your child wants to come to granny’s funeral, don’t tell them they shouldn’t, let them.  If they want to see her one more time, touch her hand or give her one last kiss, let them.   But give them the information they need so they will understand what they are going to see and feel, so there won’t be any unpleasant surprises that will teach them to fear the one event we will all experience at some point.  And if you aren’t sure what to say or how to prepare them, then talk to us.  There are materials available that can help you explain and help your child understand the events that transpire at the end of life.  After all, knowledge is the key to overcoming fear.  That, and a night light.

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