A Choke of Grief Hard Hardened

We must put aside or growing fear of Tom Cruise to mourn the loss of a dear family friend this morning.

While doing our normal rounds this morning it was discovered that Den Fish (named for where he lived) had shuffled off this mortal coil and was fins up in the bottom of this bowl. Gertrude, distraught, came tearfully to me and explained what had happened.

"Den Fish is DEAD," she cried. "I miss den fish."

We gathered Den Fish up and had a quick ceremony out in the back yard under the tree, which is becoming our tiny pet cemetery. Gert gathered rocks and marked the grave of Den Fish. We talked about how Den Fish was a good fish, despite the fact that he seemed to truly hate everyone in the family. He was a Betta and would flare up as soon as he saw anyone. Matilda also has a Betta, who has a much brighter disposition.

Gertrude asked us many existential questions about death. But few answers satisfied her desire to see Den Fish again.

"But I miss him," she said.

"I know honey, but you remember him. And as long as you do, he'll be with you."

"He's gone," she said. "He was upside down."

"But that was just his body. Fishies give up their bodies and new fishies come in the world. It's a cycle."

"Like the rain," she asked. "Puddles fly up in the sky and make clouds?"

"Uh, something like that." She asked me how clouds were made a few days ago. I didn't know I was going to be quizzed on the water cycle's metaphoric meaning a few days later. "The important thing is that you loved him as best you could. That's all any one being can ask of another."

"I did love him."

"That's my girl," I said. "Now go get your things ready for MeeMee's house."

"Okay. Tomorrow I'm going to pick out a blue fish instead of Den Fish."

And so, the mourning ends. For it was a small fish and now we must move on. To other fishes. Maybe Den Fish's successor will actually like us.