(Betta fish image courtesy of bettafishcenter.com)
It was a rare peaceful evening and I was the only one downstairs. I was relishing the quiet and appreciating the uncommon opportunity to read more than a sentence in my book before being interrupted by someone needing something.
In a home with three children, my peaceful moment was not meant to last. Suddenly, I could hear my youngest son Evan bounding down the stairs. He ran into the living room, threw himself down on the sofa next to me, and buried his face into the cushion. I could hear his muffled sobs.
Don’t judge me, but I briefly considered ignoring him. If he were my first child, I would have dropped my book, panicked like a teen girl in a horror movie, and driven him to the hospital, certain that he must be suffering from some dreadful illness.
Evan is not my first child, but my third, the one I scarcely remember to photograph. After nearly 20 years spent raising children, I'm burnt out. My Homeland Security Terror Alert barely makes it out of the green zone these days. Unless there’s visible blood, I prefer to take a wait-and-see approach. Besides, such dramatic displays from my third-born usually result from fights with his brother Matt. If I ignored him, there was a good chance he’d go back upstairs and resolve things on his own, leaving me happily unneeded.
I kept reading.
Out of the corner of my eye, though, I could see Evan lift his head from the sofa slightly and peek at me. He must have figured that I hadn’t noticed the commotion the first time, so he radically dropped his head back down and proceeded to wail even louder. It wasn’t going to be possible to ignore this one.
“What’s wrong, Evan?”
He sat up quickly and blurted loudly, "Omlet's DEAD!" Without missing a beat, he resumed his sobbing into the sofa cushions, albeit much louder and more sorrowful this time.
This was not good. Omlet was Evan's fish, a shimmery blue and red Betta that he'd kept as a pet for two years. Named after a breakfast food but spelled creatively according to 7-year-old pronunciation, Omlet lived in a bowl on a shelf at the head of Evan's bed. He was the first thing Evan saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night.
“Maybe he’s just resting,” I offered, as gently as possible. “Let’s go upstairs and take a look.”
A peek into the fish bowl revealed that Omlet, indeed, was not merely resting. A tap on the glass, which ordinarily would entice him to swim toward the sound expecting a meal, was met with idleness.
“Oh sweetie, I am so sorry. Omlet was such a good little fish, and you’ve had him for such a long time.” I sat next to Evan on his bed and held him as he cried into my shirt.
“Why does every pet I love have to die? Why do we even have pets in the first place if all they're going to do is die?”
“Well, I suppose you’re right. You can choose to not have a pet because it hurts when they die, but think of all that you’d give up. You'd miss the pain of saying goodbye to a friend, but you'd never know the joy of taking care of a pet or playing with it or loving it. You wouldn’t want to miss all of those good times, would you?”
“But I hate it when they die!”
“I know, honey. It’s hard. But not all of your pets are dead. Bailey is still alive.” As if to prove this, Bailey nudged Evan and gave him a quick sloppy lick with her oversized dog tongue.
“I know Bailey’s alive, but Harry’s probably dead. What hermit crab molts for six months? It’s unfair. All of my pets die!”
Older brother Matt, in spite of having seen his fair share of deceased pets, was no help. He quoted something he'd read about all of us becoming worm food eventually. This was too much for Evan to handle.
“WORM FOOD!? Oh great! Omlet's dead, and probably so is Harry and now you tell me that I'm going to die too?” Evan buried his face in his pillow while I gave Matt a look suggesting that he might be more useful if he stayed in his room.
Having once been a kid myself, I should be used to the fact that pets die no matter how much we love them or how well we care for them. Having three kids of my own, I should also be used to the fact that they die at the most inopportune times. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that it was now well past Evan’s bedtime on a school night. I knew he’d be impossible to wake up in the morning. How would I ever manage to calm this child down enough to get him to sleep?
“Look, Evan, I know that it’s sad losing Omlet, but you have to remember that you had him for a very long time. Fish kept in bowls don’t usually live that long. You must have taken great care of him for him to have lived so long.”
Evan sat up and wiped his red and shining eyes with the back of his sleeve. I felt proud of myself, thinking that I must have said something that comforted him.
Evan looked at me squarely. “It doesn’t matter what you say, Mom. Omlet will still be dead.”
Ouch. So maybe I wasn’t as comforting as I’d thought.
While pondering what to say or do next, I simply drew him closer to me and hugged him. I could hear his sniffles as I felt his hot tears roll down my arm. Maybe this time, words weren’t necessary. Maybe it’s enough to simply hold him and let him know that I’m here.
After a few moments, he pulled away and sat up, wiping his eyes again.
“Will you please take Omlet’s stuff downstairs? I don’t want it to keep reminding me that he’s gone.”
“Sure, sweetie.” I gathered up Omlet’s food and water conditioning drops and put them in the hall. “Do you want to bury Omlet?”
Evan shook his head and scooted under his covers. He appeared to be ready for bed.
I picked up the fish bowl containing a very dead Omlet and placed it on the table in the hall next to the fish supplies. Noticing the depressingly empty space where the bowl had been, I chose a few interesting rocks and geodes that we’d purchased at a flea market days before and arranged them on Evan’s shelf. They would fill the bare space nicely and give Evan something new to look at.
I kissed my son on the top of his head and turned off the light, feeling as if I’d somehow failed at navigating this heartbreaking milestone for him. What should I have said? Would any of it have made a difference?
Perhaps we’re meant to experience certain things on our own, feeling their full pain, until finally mulling them over in our minds into some sort of sense.
That’s the tough thing about being a mom. No matter how hard you try, or how willing your heart, from dead pets to first loves, you never really know for sure if you’re doing it right.
I hope this way was right for you, Evan.
Comments
Not sure what I admire more, Lisa, your parenting skills or your writing skills. You're great at both!
(((hugs)))
Yes, yes we are.
Well done, Lisa. Well done.
I remember one of the goldfish on Mr. Rogers' show died once, and he used the occasion to show kids how to make a tombstone out of popsicle sticks for their own dead pets.
JK - Thank you, but it still feels like I could have done better. I guess if he's in therapy when he's twenty, I'll get my answer.
Nora - You're kind, but no doubt you've been in a similar situation. P. S. EVERYONE - CHECK OUT NORA'S POTTY POST. It's a delight.
mamoore - The image of that wooden spoon marking the resting place of Harold the fish is so sweet. Thanks for the kind words.
mypsyche - Yes, unfortunately, that is all we can do. Thank you for stopping by.
GBM - Thanks for the vote of confidence. It means a lot coming from you!
Lorraine - I think you summed it up perfectly. In the end, we can't control what our kids feel or keep the hurts from getting in.
sally martin - "Openmind" or not, you are chasing the wrong girl. I mean, really, would you be content with a life dealing with fighting kids, dead fish, and an unholy pile of laundry? I didn't think so.
Wakingupslowly - It's always a treat to see you here, girl. Thanks so much.
Leeandra - Aw, I miss Mr. Rogers! He always knew the right thing to do.
(And a great response to Sally, btw, lol)
There are so many ways to do it right, Lisa. This is definitely one of them.
I don't really like pimping my own posts in comments, but have you checked this out Lisa?
http://open.salon.com/blog/bill_s/2009/09/18/the_dragonfly_story
It may help Evan get past the Omlet dying part and enable a conversation on what may or may not happen next.
R.I.P. Little Omlet. You're doing a fine job at parenting, Lisa.
Now at 12 though she seems more prepared for it. Her 3-year-old mouse is going to die soon (tumor that's literally 50% of the size of the mouse) and she seems prepared for it and satisfied that she's given Cheddar Jr. a good, long life for a mouse.
jen - Thanks. I hope that Sally can move on and find someone with less baggage and a higher tolerance for poor grammar.
Nikki - Oh my gosh, you're so nice! Thank you! You've made my day with your comment. Thanks so much. :)
SeattleK8 - So good to see you again! Thanks for the kind words.
surly - Yes, Omlet has moved on to Fish Heaven. It's next door to Cat Heaven, but we won't tell him that.
Blue in TX - Oh, yes - finding those perfect words is so difficult, especially when you're given no prep time. You pretty much have to wing it with kids and hope that it doesn't send them into therapy when they're 30. Thanks so much for stopping by.
Bill - You pimp! Just kidding. You know I love your stuff. Thanks for the link. I've often shared your posts with Evan because he loves your nature ones, and I will definitely share this one as well. XOXO
Fins - 12 is a tough age, with puberty rearing its head and all. I know that they need to learn about death, but why does it have to be so darn difficult? Good luck with poor Cheddar Jr (THE cutest name for a mouse, by the way.)
That's an incredible tale about your cat and the hamsters. I know that your kids are grown now. Did you ever tell them what really happened? Smart cat. Poor hamsters. Poor you and Mr. Geek having to do a "head count!"
Palindrome - Yikes, two in the same week? That's tough. Did they belong to the same child or two different children? Consoling multiple children is never easy. I'm glad that Evan isn't pushing for a new fish. We still have Matt's massive 4-year-old goldfish, Jade. Hopefully that's enough to keep them happy!
I've been dealing with "It's not fair" lately from my 5 year old who just started K. (As in, it's not fair that I won't buy her whatever she wants right then. Where do kids get this stuff? We have never been THOSE parents.) I have said, "You're right. It ISN'T fair. But we don't always get what's fair, or get to do everything we want to do all the time. I'm sorry, but that's how it is."
Sheesh, that's hard to tell your kids.
And as a middle aged person, I believe it does NOT get any easier to experience loss as one gets older - and why would you want it to??
Note to self: Get more bettas after the move.
Sensitively written and handled -- about this sad rite of passage- the death of a pet. Everybody has their own style. My mother gave our gold fish a "burial at sea." We saluted as we watched her flush it down the toilet. Then she solemnly told us "Goldie" was sailing peacefully through the building plumbing, passing into the pipes under the sidewalks, on a journey to rest peacefully in the waters surrounding the old filtration plant in the middle of Lake Michigan. Gulp.
kisses,
Marcela
latethink - Omlet was on his side, just at the bottom of the bowl. He probably would have floated to the top if more time had passed. Thanks for thinking that I handled it right. It'll give me ammunition in case some therapists tells me I damaged Evan! :)
Will Someone Feed the Cat? - Thank you!
Michael - I've been resisting the aquarium idea but maybe I should reconsider. Evan was really responsible about caring for Omlet. I had a 20-gal aquarium for most of my life until we moved to this house 10 years ago. We do "play" aquarium on the Wii, though.
Critical Path - It's great to see you again! I remember those kindergarten days well. It's amazing how five-year-olds can have such a solid understanding of unfairness when they're still mere babies. Perhaps a sense of fairness is hard-wired? Enjoy those early years. Before you know it, they're in college.
Verbal - Thank you! I can't wait to tell Evan that I was right; two years really IS a good lifespan for a betta. You're helping me to maintain my mom-cred.
Wendy - You're so kind! Actually, I initially started writing about the kids because I wanted to remember those small moments that seem to fade too quickly from our memories. It would be lovely if one day they referred to my writing to see how I handled things, but I'd settle for having them just know that they were loved and cherished and that their childhoods didn't pass by unnoticed.
Eva - It's always a joy to find your name among the comments. I appreciate your kind words and as always, your taking the time to read my stuff. Thank you.
Owl - Oh my gosh - catburgers? It's irreverently funny now but I can imagine that you were horrified as a child.
m. a. h. - I'm so glad to see you. I've been missing you around here. Your kind words mean the world. XOXO
Nelly - It sounds like your mom was quite imaginative. I like the image of the goldfish floating through the pipes before reaching Lake Michigan (Fish Heaven?) I suggested to Evan that he write about how he was feeling over Omlet's death. His reaction: "Why would I want to do that?"
Marcela - Thank you! By the way, I was going to try to impress you by responding in Spanish but it seems that I've forgotten more of my high school Spanish than I retained.
sweetfeet - A kindred spirit in fish deaths! Thanks so much for stopping by and for your very nice words.
Kathy - It's so nice to see you here. I appreciate you stopping by.
I am terrified of when one of my two aging cats dies. Not only will it be my own crisis (those cats got me through the toughest of times) but the kiddo will be devastated (and confused most likely).
I assume husband will be out celebrating.
Umbrella - Oh yes. Everything always happens at bedtime.
rice paddie - Thank you. What a nice thing to say! Did my mother pay you to say that? :)
The Buzz - Thank you for stopping by and for the book recommendation. What would childhood be without Judith Viorst? I haven't read this book yet but now I simply must.
I am missing out o all the good ones becos of my present joblessness which yu would THINK would give me more time. Sadly it is so scattered that I cannot concentrate beyond two lines...
Please send me PMs if yu usually do so as reminder. RATED!
Goldie (yeah I know real imaginative!!) died after 19 years and all because ,in my ecological stupidity put a snail in her small space and it competed the fish out.
Traveller - You had a fish for 19 years? That's got to be some kind of record! My middle son has a goldfish that he's had for four years and I thought that was an incredible length of time. I'm sorry to hear that you're currently unemployed. There's entirely too much of that going around these days. Best wishes for success in your job search. Thank you so much reading and leaving such a nice comment.
I loved:
"Evan is not my first child, but my third, the one I scarcely remember to photograph."
It's very honest. My mother hardly remembered my name, since I was number 5! She'd get frustrated and spout off everyone else's name while trying to yell at me. It was always good for a laugh or two.
Beta fish actually thrive in small bowls, I've read. There are certain rules for raising Beta so maybe you two could read about them for the future? I think that would be helpful, if I may be so bold. Then Evan understands the way to improve and extend their life.
They like stuff in their bowls, to hide and rest. I remember that too. They like to be alone because they're kinda aggressive. Their water needs to be changed in a very particular way. It's a big adjustment for them so it has to be done just so and fairly often.
FWIW, one of my two goldfish died when I was four and, apparently, I asked my mother when the second one would die so we could flush *it, too.
Sourie - Ha! Your 4-year-old self probably enjoyed watching the goldfish "swim" in the toilet whirlpool toward Fish Heaven (which is rather cool to witness.) Thank you for stopping by.
My husband's comment about incipient therapy for my daughter is: "I'll know I've been a successful parent when my daughter is able to pay for her own therapy." There is no "right" thing to do except be yourself and let your son know its ok to grieve. My 2 cents.