I got a text from my husband while I was in Boston this week that simply read, "Ginger died."

He was referring to my son's hamster who lived in his purple plastic cage for less than a year. This was the third hamster that croaked on us in the past three years, but that's not surprising considering they have a two-year lifespan.

Consequently, from this point on, we're switching to gerbils. At least they have a five-year lifespan.

The first time one of our hamsters died -- she was the first of three that my son named "Lavender" -- I thought it was a positive experience. We buried Lavvy in the garden, next to the bleeding heart bush, and later watched an episode of "Harold and The Purple Crayon" in which Harold's goldfish dies.

A year later, Lavender 2 died, followed six months later by Lavender 3. And each time, we talked a little more about death, and he started to understand in a practical, non-emotional way. "I'm glad you're not dead," my son said to my father after one of our talks. "Me too," my father said.

But this time, with the death of Ginger (I am not sure why she wasn't named Lavender 4), my son, who is now 7, reacted differently. He understands the concept of death more now, and that even though I once told him -- yes, lied to him -- that he didn't have to worry about me dying, that I would be alive until he was a grown-up man, he knows this isn't necessarily true.

Last month, my mother-in-law bought my son a digital camera for his birthday, and he makes little videos with it all day long. Most of them are close-ups of his brother's mouth or footage of slot cars racing around and around the track. But after Ginger's death, he made a series of videos documenting his emotional process. One is called "Mad," one is called "Sad" and one is called "I Want A Bird."

I am both pleased and surprised by this. I never taught him to process pain and anger through art, but he did. I am happy for him that he has a way to deal with this death, and the inevitable deaths down the road of both hamsters and humans alike.

And I am not getting a bird.