Mercy killing or cold-blooded plant murder?

I have a very tenderhearted almost-13-year-old.  This afternoon was drizzly and warm out (for November anyway), and everything was melting.  Did I mention it was also raining?  Needless to say, it was kind of miserable outside.

On the kitchen table was a doomed sage plant that I had dug out of my herb pot this fall and brought in the house, thinking I could grow it inside until next spring.  It works with rosemary really well; oregano and thyme not so much, but they're doing better than this poor, sad sage plant.  The plan was to chuck it out on the compost heap, so I asked Evan to do this simple thing for me.

But he objected to the plan.  Maybe it was the way I worded my request: "I need you to do something for me, please.  Throw this plant out on the compost heap; it's a mercy killing."  He didn't see it that way... it was cold-blooded murder, and he was not going to be a part of any type of plant killing.

I realized my error and told him that the plant really was infested with bugs (I thought it was, otherwise, why would it look so SAD?) and wasn't going to survive anyway.  And MAYBE it'll grow back next spring... if it's placed properly in the compost heap.  I was stretching it, but I really needed that plant pot empty (I have some green onion root tips that need to get potted).

He had this brilliant idea: "Put the pot outside and the bugs will die!"  I waited for the lightbulb to come on....  "Oh, wait, if I put the plant outside to kill the bugs, not only will the plant still die, but I'm also KILLING the bugs!"  More cold-blooded murder.  I sighed.  And let him work it out in his own way.

A few minutes later, he came in triumphantly and put the empty pot on the kitchen table.  Outside, perkily planted in our empty garden, was the sage plant, waiting out the winter "safely" in the dirt.  It actually looks quite beautiful out there, a splash of green in the midst of brown and white.

I haven't the heart to tell him that it likely won't survive our Zone 4 winters (it's rated for Zone 5).  If it does survive, it'll be a miracle, and one so tenderhearted really should see those types of miracles more often than those of us with pragmatic hearts.  And they probably do see miracles more because their eyes see more.  They see the importance of a poor little plant, and value even the little bugs that have made their home in the pot.

I love my second-born, so full of contradictions and flair.  He brings a lot of excitement into my life, and believe me when I say I could use a lot less excitement.  But there are moments of joy, especially at times like these, when I'm given a glimpse into how his mind works.  He's a miracle, and I'm thankful for my tenderhearted almost-13-year-old.