Are there actually dead people in the ground?

This will be a shorter than normal post this week because quite simply, I am dead.

The last few weeks have been so hard and, as I’m sure you’re aware because I keep mentioning it, we are in a terrible sleep phase. A terrible phase. Averaging being awake from 1am to 5am every single night. To say I am dead is an understatement, and it didn’t escape my notice that this question was asked this week, making me wonder once again whether my son might actually be psychic?

We were on our way to a birthday party and it had not been easy to get there. I was just about calming down from the pressure of whether my son would or wouldn’t go when he asked…

“Are there actually dead people in the ground?”

I had no idea what had prompted this until I realised we were driving past a cemetery. It’s a strange concept, isn’t it — putting a dead body in a box and burying it in the ground forever. And not one I really like. But the alternative isn’t much better either… put in a box and set on fire. There must be something better than this.

Death itself is a strange concept. Like most people, I don’t like to think about it too much because it would probably upset me, to be honest. My son, on the other hand, mentions death a lot. And always in a very matter-of-fact way.

Both our guinea pigs have died and if you’ve read my earlier posts Did Your Eyes Pop Out and Just Relax you’ll know they were traumatic for me, but not so much for him. He took it extremely matter of fact and wasn’t fazed by it at all. Quite frequently he would talk about his elder grandparents dying. He would look at me, put his finger across his neck like he was slitting his throat (in a jokey way, I might add) and say, “when they die…”

He meant no harm by it. To him, it’s simply a fact. People die. Animals die. That’s how he understands it.

Just the other day my mam had come round and said to him…

Her: “Grandad isn’t well.”
Him: “Is he gonna die soon?”

It’s a good job we’re all thick skinned and take no offence at all from these conversations. In fact, we laugh about it. A lot of the time I wish I had his candour. He says things I think but would never dare say, and I know he can get away with it at seven years old.

Recently we saw a friend who is ginger, and he had his dog with him — a ginger spaniel. It was the first time we’d seen the dog and immediately I thought, God, he looks just like his dog. But I didn’t say it. I didn’t feel brave enough.

It didn’t matter anyway, because the first thing my son said was…

“Hahahahaha why do you look like your dog?”

And he laughed. My son has the biggest belly laugh — dramatic, loud, and completely unapologetic. Proper HA HA HA HA HA. It cracks me up.

And that is exactly how he ruined that lad’s day.

So of course, when I answered his question about dead people, I did it in the same matter-of-fact way he prefers. He doesn’t like sugar-coating. I told him yes, there are dead bodies in there, but over time they break down and go into the ground and become soil.

He said he already knew that — that the skin falls off and you’re left as just a skeleton, like the Egyptians. And then he added…

“The Egyptians actually cut their heads off and got rid of all the blood.”

Which isn’t quite right. They didn’t cut heads off, but they did remove organs and the brain through the nose and dry the bodies to preserve them. Close enough, really, for a seven-year-old learning about death during history lessons.

Death comes up a lot with him. Not dramatically. Just factually. He’s curious. He wants facts.

And I’m so tired that I feel like I’m halfway there myself.
Not in a worrying way — just in that bone-deep, sleep-deprived way where you’re technically alive but spiritually composting.

So yes, there are dead people in the ground.
And yes, this week, I am too.