Yesterday, as I was driving home from work, I happened to spot a downed butterfly at the side of the road. Like the total maniac that I am, I whipped the car off the road to retrieve him. (Hey, I have two kids and the only science I'm qualified to teach them is natural science. So sue me.) Anyway, this butterfly was a black swallowtail who had been downed by a car and was clearly dying. But the thing of it was, he was flawless.
Usually if a butterfly has been carred, it is all mangled. This guy, though, was beautiful and doomed, so I put him in a Lee's Chicken box and let Charlie hold him during his last hours. This provoked all sorts of speculation, as follows:
Me: "No, honey, I'm sorry, but he's not."
Charlie: "Well, are you sad?"
Me: "Yes, it's sad when something pretty gets hurt or dies."
Charlie: "Well, why did that car killed him? That was mean of them!"
Me: "It was an accident, honey."
Charlie: "Well, I fink he's gonna get better."
Me: "No, I don't think so."
Charlie: "Well, will he go to heaven?"
Me: *squirm* "I don't know. I hope so."
Charlie: "People heaven?"
Me: "Sure, it wouldn't be any fun if the butterflies went to a different heaven and we didn't see them any more."
Charlie: "Can we keep him?"
Me: "He won't last, honey. But if we laminate his wings like we did with that poppy petal, they might last."
Charlie: "Mommy! If he's going to heaven, he's going to need his wings!"
Oops...
At any rate, I did eventally laminate his wings, but now his wingless body is staring at me accusingly. I keep thinking, which is worse? That I told my five year old there was a butterfly heaven? Or that he's going to need his wings there and I plan to make earrings out of them?
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