I have always been okay talking about death. Because it is unavoidable, perhaps because my parents handled my early experiences with it well. I had the privilege to talk to my Grandpa about his feelings about impending death when he was given just a couple months to live. It still remains as one of the best conversations I have ever had. My Grandma was the same way, very pragmatic about the whole thing. Because other family members were "too emotional" in her opinion, she asked me to write up her informal bequeaths, her obituary for the newspaper, and general directions in how her memorial service should run. It didn't bother me to do this at all - not only a favor to my grandmother, but also something I feel is pretty important anyway.
So. I try to talk with Roman pretty factual about death too. It's not scary, it's not something to avoid - in fact, we refer to it as going to live with God. And for hard-believing Christians, is there anything better, really? Wouldn't life be scary if you didn't firmly believe this? Yesterday was something I certainly never expected to need to talk about, though. The old ladies who live next to us also had their brother living with them. He passed away suddenly in the afternoon and I found myself in the odd position of explaining to Roman about how they take care of a body. Yes, because timing was terrible - Ro and I went out to do an errand right as the funeral home showed up to remove the body from the house. And oh, was Roman curious. We talked and I think/hope I handled it well. I just don't want him to be afraid of death either - death & taxes, right?