Written by Lori Burns-Galdenzi, LCSW

A common scenario is, it is 9pm, we are drained and trying desperately to relax. The kids are supposed to be asleep. Instead, your eight-year-old is standing in the doorway asking why everyone's been crying.

If you are facing this moment — or bracing for it — you are probably exhausted, scared, and terrified of saying the wrong thing. Take a breath, there's no perfect script. But there are ways to do this that help kids feel safe and honestly informed, even while something enormous is happening around them. This will also serve as a teaching moment learning important skills they will possess for the rest of their lives. 

Keep in mind, kids already know something's wrong. Children are perceptive, commonly listening and scanning non-verbal information. They notice hushed phone calls, changed routines, red eyes, and the heavy feeling in a house. When adults don't explain what's happening, kids don't stop noticing. They just fill in the blanks — and what they imagine is often scarier than the truth. The bottom line, is they need to feel safe. When they do not feel a sense of safety, this is when we can notice a negative change in behavior at home or in school. Silence doesn't protect children from pain. It just leaves them to face it alone. The last thing we want is for them to feel alone.

When discussing death with children we want to use the real words. Although difficult for some adults, words matter in this case, so the child understands what is happening. This is an important guideline: use words like "dying," "death," and the actual diagnosis — not "went to sleep," "passed," or "went away." Euphemisms meant to soften the blow can backfire. A child was told grandma “went to sleep" may become afraid of bedtime. A child told someone “went away" may wonder why no one goes to bring them back. Keep in mind, until children are somewhere between 7-10, they may think "Heaven" is a place you can go or “can't grandma come back from there?”, “why is she staying there instead of coming home?,” etc. Perhaps, when they get a little older, we can introduce the concept of heaven to them if this is important to the family's religious or cultural norm.

How much detail you give from there depends on age. No matter how bright children are is not as significant as their developmental stage. Young children (about 3–6) we can keep it simple and concrete. For example, "Grandpa's body is very sick, and the doctors can't make it better. His body is going to stop working, and that means he will die." Expect the same questions repeatedly. That's normal, not a sign you got it wrong. 

School-age children (about 7–12) they can grasp more about illness and the body, and often want specifics — what's wrong, what will happen, how long. They're also starting to understand that death is permanent, which can bring up real fear. Teenagers are usually capable of full honesty and often want it. They may process independently, ask hard questions, or push you away one minute and need you close the next. Both are normal.

The adults oversee naming the feelings, theirs and yours. Let kids know that whatever they feel is okay: sad, angry, scared, numb, or fine one minute and not the next. It's alright for children to see you cry or look sad. It shows them big feelings are survivable, and that they don't have to hide theirs either. Children are naturally resilient and we are role modeling for them that it is okay to be sad and cry. Life has good times and bad, they will grow and adapt while learning this important lesson. You don't need all the answers. "I don't know" and "I'm sad too" are honest — and they model something important: that it's okay not to be okay right now.

Expect the hard questions, will you die too?" "What happens to their body?" "Is it my fault?" These deserve calm, honest answers — even if the honest answer is "I don't know, but I don't think so." Kids, especially younger ones, sometimes believe they somehow caused the illness through something they said, did, or even just thought. Naming that directly is crucial, "This is not because of anything you did" can lift a weight they may never say out loud.

Keep their world as steady as possible, Routines are an anchor in a crisis. School, meals, bedtime, normal activities — they tell a child that some things are still safe, even while one part of life has changed completely. It’s okay for kids to keep playing and laughing through this. That's not a sign they don't care. It's how children process, and it's healthy.

Try to include them, at their level when appropriate, let children be part of what's happening rather than shielded from all of it — visiting the person who is ill, making a card, being present for goodbyes if they want to be. Being included, in a way that matches their age and comfort, often helps kids feel less shut out — and better able to grieve afterward. You don't have to do this alone If you're supporting a child through a family member's terminal illness, support is available — for them, and for you.

Grief can make the mind feel overwhelmed. Memories, sadness, regrets, and “what if” thoughts can repeat over and over, leaving us emotionally and physically exhausted.

Mindfulness can offer a gentle way to cope.

Mindfulness means bringing our attention back to the present moment instead of getting lost in painful thoughts about the past or worries about the future. It doesn't erase grief or make the pain disappear. Instead, it helps us change our relationship with difficult emotions. It gives us a practice that allows us to choose where we place our awareness rather than get pulled along by our thoughts.

When we practice mindfulness, we learn to notice our thoughts without automatically following them. We might say, “I notice I'm feeling sad,” rather than becoming completely consumed by the sadness. Allowing yourself to breathe into this sense of feeling sad and placing your attention and awareness on the breath in that moment as a way to direct your awareness, connect to your presence.

Even a few minutes of slow breathing can create a pause between a thought and our reaction to it. Over time, this practice may support emotional regulation, reduce rumination, and help calm the nervous system.

Mindfulness also teaches self-compassion. Instead of saying, “I should be over this by now,” we can remind ourselves, “I'm grieving because I cared deeply, and it's okay to take my time.”

The goal of mindfulness isn't to forget the person we lost. It's to create enough space to feel the grief without allowing it to take over every moment.

Instead, mindfulness teaches us that healing means expanding your heart’s capacity to hold both the sorrow and the love at the same time.

written by Barbara Franzino, MAPT