Requiem for a rabbit

From the ever-wonderful Michael Neill: Just before I boarded the flight back to LA this morning, I got a call from my wife with some news - our rabbit, Biggie Tupac Jr. (he was a hip-hop bunny) was attacked in the garden in the night by some wild animal or another and died.  The kids were crying in the background, and after a few quick words with my five year old daughter, who proudly assured me that they were all sad, even her, I strapped in to my seat and switched off my phone.

All flight long I've been wondering about what to say to them when I get home.  Do I commiserate with their sorrow and agree that this is terrible, awful and bad? Truth be known, I was never a huge fan of the rabbit, but I certainly don't think his was a pleasant demise.

Do I help apportion blame?

Do I trot out the "death is a natural part of life" speech in hopes that somehow they'll just "get over it"?

Do I run out and buy them a new rabbit, in a "please don't be sad I can't stand it if you're sad I want us all to be happy, happy, happy" kind of way?

After several hours of contemplation at 30,000 feet, I've concluded the real questions is less what I will ultimately do or not do than why I would be doing it.  If I think my kids' beautiful, delicate souls can't handle the realities of a sometimes harsh and hostile world, I will look for ways of "making it all OK".  If I think my kids need to toughen up and prepare themselves for the realities of life and death, I will show little empathy for their sorrow and make sure they know that "people (and rabbits) die - that's just the way it is."

But the reality is, I think my kids are capable and able and wise beyond their years.  (I also think this is true of you, and your partner, and your parents, and your kids, and even your cousin Bob who's always seemed a bit hopeless - but more on that later.)