Yesterday at the aquarium, we watched a window-full of small salmon move effortlessly in the tank, except for one who was struggling on its side making small jerky undulations just above the floor. At first Corey thought it was resting, below the fervor of the group but you changed when we told you it was dying.

At the restaurant, the one fish was still on his mind, as we ordered prawn curry, scallops, soup made of soy milk, bamboo shoots and lemon grass. The teaching window opens and shuts quicker than a blink; with the three of us in the bathroom taking turns, I said, “All living beings die so we should take care of this life, not let fear rule.” Arianna, at six, having had death on her mind for years, especially at bedtime, added, “We should enjoy it now.”

There we were, with the antidote for this ageless fear, that what allows death its place is our love, and so the need for this bond to be without doubt. But I denied you your feeling for the dying fish, like my mother’s disbelief when I said I was sick. “Frankly, I say, I could care less for that fish at the bottom of the tank!” No wonder back at the table you ask how I would feel if you died.

This morning, I said to him, “Sorry about the fish.” With his soon-to-be ten year old smarts Corey replied, “Someday we’ll all be floating sideways at the bottom of some tank.”