biscuit: Mommy, how many beavers were there at the zoo?
me: I thought there were two, but apparently one of them died.
me: Oh, well, maybe he got old or sick. I don't know. But everything that is born has to die, someday. It's just part of life.
biscuit: That's okay, because we come back. Like flowers. You kill them, and then they always come back. Don't worry, mama.
me: (existential crisis solved by innate wisdom and trust of child) Cool.