Ryan was eating breakfast a few days ago up at the counter in the kitchen. She was half watching some cartoon while shoveling a bagel in her mouth and talking incessantly as she's prone to doing. I was making lunches and drinking coffee and cleaning up in the kitchen. There was an audible pause in her chewing and mumbling which caught my attention. Looking up, I found her staring at her fish bowl inquisitively. I held my breath. She looked at me puzzled and then back at the fish bowl and said, "Wait, something is wrong."
"Huh?" I responded foolishly, knowing full well what was wrong.
"There are only two fish here. Where is Pancho number 2?" she asked as she continued staring intently at the 10 inch bowl, searching for the third fish, willing it to appear from the clear water.
Pancho II, named after her first fish, Pancho, when she couldn't come up with a new name, had been discovered floating belly up earlier that morning. Jim had removed it with a spoon and flushed it down the toilet. I have no idea if that is the proper handling for a dead goldfish but since that is how my mom handled the same situation 30 years earlier, I figured it could work for us. Death is not a concept I have discussed with my four year old. I don't know how to explain that to her without her worrying that anyone and everyone may suddenly be found floating belly up one morning. But now Pancho number 2 was missing.
"When I came downstairs this morning, Pancho II was sick," I told her. She understands sick but not dead.
"Where is he now?" she rightfully asked. I didn't want to tell her he was flushed down the toilet for fear that she'd never use the toilet again. I didn't want to tell her we threw him away either. I didn't know what to say.
"He went where sick fish go, honey." How pathetic does that sound? "Where?" she asked. "Away," I said and gave her a hug. "He's okay now and he lived a long life because you took such great care of him and loved him so much." Jim rolled his eyes. Actually, I fed him and our cleaning lady cleaned his bowl but Ryan and Sammie did look at him, talk to him and feed him broccoli occasionally so I felt justified in my praise of her.
Her eyes welled up with tears and her lip quivered and she asked me "did he know we loved him?" What a question from a 4 year old! I assured her that yes, Pancho number 2 knew she loved him.
"Couldn't he get better?" she asked. I told that her that no, he couldn't. He had to leave but that he was happier now.
She cried a little bit more and asked if her other fish, O'a and Pancho, were going to get sick too.
"Someday they will but we don't know when. We just enjoy them while they're here." I told her, shaking my head at my own inability to explain this concept to my daughter. She went back to her bagel and cartoon. She got dressed for school and seemed to have moved past the passing of Pancho number 2. When I dropped her off at school, however, I realized she knew more then she let on.
"Mrs. De los Santos? Guess what, Pancho number 2 died." she told her teacher. Apparently she gets it.
A few nights later as I put Ryan to bed she told me she was going to have triplets when she got married. Instead of exploring the highly questionable idea of having triplets with her, I decided to pursue the topic of her marriage.
"Who are you going to marry?" I asked.
"Roman," she said as she twisted her hair around a finger and then placed the end in her mouth to chew on.
"Oh, I like Roman, he's cute, huh?" What else can you say about a 4 year old.
"I wonder what he'll look like when he's grown up?" she said. Again, this from a 4 year old. I was impressed with her way of thinking and was going through the proverbial motion of patting myself on the back for having such a bright child when she answered her own question:
"I know, he'll be a woman when he grows up!" Maybe she doesn't get it just yet.
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