Neuroplastic Line Jumper

“Mommy… Fred’s not swimming anymore.”

Shit. I bet that fish finally kicked the bucket.

I follow my 4-year-old son into his bedroom and confirm my suspicion: That fish was indeed dead.

I looked at my son and thought this was a good opportunity to teach him about life and death and love and loss. I did my best to relate to him that it was okay to feel sad, but to remember that his beloved pet had a very good life. I told him that saying goodbye to a pet was just something we all have to do eventually and it feels really bad.

His blue eyes looked up at me with curiosity. As I spoke, I could see his little features pondering something deeply. He was fidgeting, trying his best to remain patient and to not interrupt. ‘Practicing manners’, as we often worked on together lately.

“Do you have a question, honey?” I asked him gently, allowing him the opportunity to speak whatever was on his young heart.

In a very matter-of-fact manner, he asked, “Can I flush him?”