The day we woke up to Sugar Fishy floating in the bowl we gave him a proper burial. We‘d given Cameron, our son, a fish as his first pet the moment I realized that despite all my begging, my husband was probably right and a dog would be a little too much for now.
The red and blue Betta, a Japanese fighting fish, was a fun pet. the first few weeks he hid from us, but we began to recognize his behavior and just like my horse when I was little, "I think he knows exactly what I am saying and that we love him!" We talked to him everyday, kept his water clean and warm, and loved watching him fight his shadow every night once the sun had set and the bowl reflected a perfect mirage of himself on the inside. We went away for 10 days and left him with a neighbor. The neighbor took great care of him, but I think he missed us.
My husband and I didn’t know exactly what to do, but wanted to mark the moment to help Cameron understand the experience, and so we did what everyone else does. We dug the hole together as the sun set in the backyard, and the three of us, each in our own way, said thanks to Sugar for being a great pet.
Four months have passed since then. I wondered as time went on if Cameron would carry deep feelings about it, although when it happened, he was shocked and hurt--for a total of 5 terrible, sobbing minutes--then never seemed to be saddened by the incident again, and has only ever discussed Sugar’s death in a very factual way, ending every sentence with a hidden question mark, his eyes always watching my response, as if to always ask, “And this is what happens when something dies, right Mom?”
After a day of enjoying unusually warm weather picking lemons and making lemonade yesterday, racing remote control cars down the sidewalk, and just generally hanging out, I walked by my son on my way to the garage as he was digging in the backyard. He was digging very close to where we buried Sugar. I was all of the sudden horrified at the thought Cameron might be digging up the fish when I decided to calmly ask what he was up to. “I’m just making better meaning, Mom,” he said, as he kept his head down, digging.
I didn’t understand. “Hmm. Better meaning?” I walked closer. “You’re not digging up Sugar Fishy, are you?” “No Mom, I’m making better meaning.” I got closer and leaned in. I saw he had dug just near the burial site and gathered all fresh dirt. He’d made a higher raised bed, shaped like a mini volcano, where we’d buried Sugar. I stood for a few minutes and watched as he worked. He put one stick in the top, like a flag on a fort, then two, then kept adding. “There, that’s a lot more meaning,” he said, pleased.
“That is so nice,” I responded, admirably. “What a nice way to honor Sugar Fishy.” I stood back and watched him clean up the “site,” marveling at his five year old heart: so big, so deep, so able to keep things close, but also, let them go.
