A rough couple of weeks for metaphysics

It's been a rough couple of weeks for metaphysical speculation and incipient existential Angst.

The mother of one of Sophie's classmates died unexpectedly.

Besides being enormously depressing and upsetting, this has led to a spate of questions I would really rather not answer, like:

“Daddy, when do you stop being in the ground when you died?”

Her mother and I have decided on a policy of honesty without offering any unasked-for details.  Much as with the question of where babies come from, Sophie seems to be content thus far to stick to broad outlines without asking too many followup questions.  It seemed likely that religion would come up.  We decided not to broach the topic ourselves, but to leave it alone if Sophie should pick it up at school, as it were.

And then her fish died.  This was much less tragic and not at all unexpected.  It was even the occasion for some light comic relief, since Sophie quickly decided that the fish's passing left the door open for a kitten (it didn't; it doesn't).

This wish for a kitten was a secondary reaction.  Sophie's first reaction was to recapitulate what I imagine to be the phylogeny of basic religious principles and burial rites.

On being told that her fish had died:

“OH!  Where is she?  I want to see her.”

On being told that said fish had been flushed down the toilet:

“I bet she’s happier there.  Is she happier there?”

On being told that the fish was happy there:

“Yeah, I bet that’s a better place for her.”

(As you can see from that last, already our principles crumble).

Much as her mother and I had suspected, it turns out that the kids at school have been circulating religious theories on their own.

“Dad guess what?”

“What?” 

“———’s mom that died used to live in the sky, like God!”

“Oh?”

“She flutters and flits!”

We've been reading chapter books about fairies and I think some of that got mixed up in there.

I'm afraid Sophie is already inclined to hereditary bouts of existential Angst: I was wracked with anguish at the incomprehensible thought that the sky never ends when I was six or seven, and Sophie has already made infinity one of her favored topics of conversation.  So though I would not myself offer Sophie any such spiritual palliatives, I'm pleased—as per my agreement with her mother—not to have to disabuse her of her notions.

Sophie seemed quite pleased with the idea of the fairy mother.  The above exchange was, on her part, delivered in a tone of happy exultation.  It seems likely that this will be her last word on this, for a while.  And for that, I say, pretty much unironically, thank God!