Before Children Understand Grief, They Are Trying to Understand Life

Death is one of the most difficult subjects for adults to discuss with children. We often wonder what to say, how much to share, and whether children truly understand what has happened. Yet before we decide how to explain death, perhaps we should first ask a different question: How do children make sense of it?

Over the next several Substack essays, I will explore children’s perceptions of death through personal stories, observations, developmental research, and the lens of Revisiting Journeys. Rather than focusing on what adults should teach children about death, this series will examine the theories children develop as they attempt to understand one of life’s most profound experiences. Their questions offer us a window into their thinking, reminding us that children are active meaning makers who construct understanding over time.

When my brother died, my oldest daughter, Alexis, was four years old. She had met him a few times, but they had not formed a close relationship. His death was devastating for me, and as I tried to make sense of my own grief, I wanted to help her understand what had happened.

Like many adults, I assumed that she would have questions about losing someone she knew. I imagined that she might ask where he had gone, whether he could still see us, or if he knew that we loved him.

Instead, she surprised me.

I sat beside her and gently asked whether she had any questions about Uncle Elik.

She looked at me thoughtfully and asked, “Did his heart stopped beating? I quietly answered, “Yes.” She then asked, “Did he stop breathing too?” Again, I answered ‘Yes.” I did not know how much more to say.

Her questions were not about heaven or sadness. It was not about grief or loss. She wanted to understand what happened to his body. She was trying to make sense of death through the concrete realities she could imagine.

I answered her question as simply and honestly as I could. Then I asked if she would like to write him a note. Since she was still not writing, I offered to write her words, and she could then draw something for her uncle.

Without hesitation, she responded, “Why? He will not be able to read it.”

Her answer stopped me in my tracks.

In that brief exchange, I realized that I had entered the conversation carrying adult assumptions about how children experience death.

I expected emotion. She was investigating biology.

I expected symbolism. She was reasoning through logic.

I expected her to need comfort through ritual. She was trying to understand how a body works when life ends.

That moment reminded me that young children often begin with what is tangible. Before they can understand abstract ideas, they seek explanations for what they can observe and imagine. Their thinking is rooted in their lived experiences and in the theories they are constructing about how the world works.

Her questions were not lacking emotion. They reflected the way she was making meaning.

Children do not simply absorb information that adults provide. They actively construct knowledge by connecting new experiences to what they already know.

Alexis knew that living people breathe and that their hearts beat. When she learned that my brother had died, she naturally wanted to understand the relationship between those two ideas. Her thinking was logical, sequential, and deeply rooted in observation.

When I suggested writing him a letter, I was introducing an adult practice of remembrance. From her perspective, the idea did not make sense. If he could not read the letter, then why write one?

Her response was not insensitive. It was perfectly consistent with her understanding of the world.

As educators and families, we often rush to answer children’s questions. Yet what if we listened more carefully to the thinking behind those questions?

Children reveal their theories every day through their words, actions, drawings, and play. They tell us how they understand life, relationships, nature, mathematics, language, and even death. When we pay close attention, we discover that their ideas are often more sophisticated and more logical than we initially assume.

Our responsibility is not to replace their theories with adult explanations as quickly as possible. Our responsibility is to understand how they are constructing meaning so that we can thoughtfully support their thinking.

This requires slowing down, observing carefully, and resisting the urge to interpret children’s experiences through an adult lens.

That conversation with my four-year-old daughter changed the way I listened to children.

It reminded me that every question is an invitation into a child’s thinking. Before we decide what children need to know, we must first understand what they are trying to figure out.

Children do not begin with abstract ideas. They begin with observation. They investigate what they can see, hear, touch, and experience. From those investigations, they develop theories that help them make sense of the world.

When we honor those theories instead of replacing them, we create opportunities for deeper learning, stronger relationships, and more meaningful conversations.

Perhaps the most important lesson was not about death at all.

It was about learning to see the world through a child’s eyes before asking them to see it through ours.

Thank you for reading.

This essay is the first in a series exploring how children develop their understanding of death and what their questions reveal about the remarkable ways they construct meaning. I hope these reflections encourage you to slow down, listen more carefully, and see children’s thinking through a new lens.

If this article resonated with you, I invite you to explore my other essays on children’s theories, Revisiting Journeys, play, and the learning that unfolds when we truly observe children.

I would also love to hear from you. Have you ever been surprised by a child’s question about death or another complex topic? What did that experience teach you about children’s thinking? Please share your thoughts in the comments. Your stories enrich this community of educators, families, and researchers.

If you found this article meaningful, please consider sharing it with a colleague, friend, or family member. Together, we can continue changing the way the world sees children, one conversation at a time.

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