Monday, September 23, 2013

RIP Frankie

Remember the goldfish Ian won at the fair?

After dinner tonight, my sister noticed that the fish was dead. Laying at the bottom, lifeless. I knew Ian would be upset, so I took the fish, wrapped it up in a paper towel and was planning on flushing it.

Just then, Ian came running into the kitchen and asked where his other fish went. (I never updated on this, but he went back to the fair with his grandparents and got another goldfish, who we named Martin.) I calmly explained to him that Frankie got sick and it was his time to go. He, of course, asked where he went. I had to explain to him that his fish died. And that's the word I used. Died. Why shelter him from it? He doesn't quite grasp the whole concept of death, but it is a natural occurrence, and I had rather him hear it from me than someone else.

I squatted down and unwrapped Frankie, to show him that he was not longer moving or breathing. Ian said "Aw, man! Frankie died." I sadly smiled and said "Yes, sweetheart. Would you like to take him out and bury him in the yard?" He responded yes, so there we went.

I wrapped the fish back up, grabbed a flashlight, and a spoon. When we got to the yard, Ian told me where to put him and I began digging a small hole. We laid the little fish's body into the hole and covered it with the dirt and a small rock.

We held hands. I said a sweet little prayer, and we said "amen" in unison. It went much smoother than I had envisioned. I expected tears and screaming, but he seems okay with it. I told him not to worry because he still had Martin, and that if that one became sick, we would find him another fish, maybe even a pretty beta! His eyes sparkled at the idea of getting more fish!

I'm hoping that I did the right thing by letting him know about the fish instead of hiding it from him. You always see the shows on TV where the child finds a box in the yard with a cat corpse in it and runs inside to scream "You told me Mr. Twinkles ran away!" If it meant enough to him to notice, I didn't feel like lying to him, even over something as small as a goldfish.

Rest in peace, Frankie.

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