Lincoln Tan: Death comes to us all so it makes sense to talk about it

There are some things which I find extremely difficult to talk about with our children. Sex is one of them, but death is an even greater taboo for many Asian parents.

Last week my wife and I faced this dilemma when our 4-year-old daughter came home with sad news. "My friend only has a daddy left, because her mummy died," she said.

My wife then turned to her and said: "If mummy died, you too will be left with only daddy. So you must promise to be a good girl, okay?"

She was quiet for a while and seemed rather disturbed, and soon began hugging her mother saying: "I don't want you or daddy to leave me."

After promises of, "Okay, we won't," we changed the topic just to take her mind off it.

We were afraid that if we carried on talking about death it could leave her traumatised.

While death is something I feel strongly I need to talk about with our children, I have always found it difficult to approach.

Perhaps it is because, like many Asians, we were brought up with the belief that talking about death brings bad luck, so we avoid the topic altogether.

When growing up in my native Singapore, my only experience with death was our annual visit to my grandfather's grave during Qing Ming, where we would do some weeding, and participate in Taoist rituals honouring our dead ancestors.

My parents never talked about death, and that left me ill-prepared for my first encounter with it when I was 14.

One night I was with a group of friends having supper at a hawker centre in Malacca when one of them said he wanted to go on a joyride on another friend's motorcycle.

After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, we went looking for him - only to find an ambulance and police at a crash scene and my friend's bloodied, lifeless body at the side of the road.

The memory of my reaction to my first real encounter with death perpetuated my desire to shield my children from it.

For my wife, the defining moment on her views about death came after her mother died soon after a visit to New Zealand in 2001.

Diagnosed with advanced liver cancer the day after she arrived back to Singapore, she was immediately hospitalised. She died within three months at the age of 65.

When death comes suddenly, it leaves emotions hanging, and for that reason, the subject of death has also been high on the list of things my wife has to talk about with our kids.

She didn't want them to be left feeling the same way she had with her mother.

Last week, a window of opportunity presented itself with the passing of the Maori Queen, Dame Te Ata.

Reading aloud the tributes sent to her by readers of the Herald, we were able to talk about her life and death like a story to our children.

We spoke on how she was like a mother to the Maori people and to New Zealand, and how she would be sorely missed by all.

My wife seized the opportunity to relate to them our own experiences of the death of their grandmother, who had looked after our son in the first few years of his life when she spent six months here every year.

On her last visit, we were discussing plans for her residency application after she expressed a strong desire to move to New Zealand permanently to live with us.

But nature had other plans, and she was gone within months after having that discussion.

My wife grieved for a long time and, in a sense, we were left feeling guilty for not telling her how much we loved and appreciated her when we had the chance. Now it is too late.

My sister-in-law, a stained glass artist, installed a panel in a church at Christchurch in memory of her - but that did not take away our missing the security of having her around.

It was hard being new parents in a foreign land with no extended family support and we had always taken for granted that my mother-in-law would be there for us.

In between reading the many tributes to the beloved Maori Queen, we were able to tell them that death comes to everyone and they should be prepared to accept it if mummy or I died.

More important, I told them that I did not want them to feel guilty like we did after their grandma died because there is no reason to feel that way.

We told them that even though they were naughty sometimes, in our eyes they were perfect kids and we would always love them.

Although I am not religious by any account, I talked to them about our Catholic belief in life after death, and we agreed that one day we will all meet again in heaven.

As first-generation migrants, death is not something we can just leave in the hands of extended family if anything happened to us, because most of us do not have any in New Zealand.

So it was important that we talked about it.

Perhaps when our children are a little older we will discuss in greater detail matters such as funeral arrangements and burial sites.

I never had the honour of meeting Dame Te Ata. Judging by the tributes, she must have had made an impact on many in her life.

But in her death, the Maori Queen has opened the door for me and my family to talk about the very delicate topic of dying and death in a manner that is not at all traumatising for any of us.

For that, I will always remember her. May she rest in peace.