A Funeral for a Fish

Who knew a little Betta fish could mean so much to a 4-year-old? I didn't - until tonight, that is. On Saturday afternoon, we came home from a family outing to see that Fred the Fish was dead in his bowl.

When Lily got her fish, she was so excited. Joel took her to the store to pick it out and she came home with a big grin on her face. She loved watching him swim, and really loved feeding him! On more than one occasion she gave him a little more food than he should have had. And whenever it was time to clean his bowl, she always helped daddy get it done.

A few times between Saturday and today, I mentioned to Lily that we needed to either flush him down the toilet or bury him. She wanted to do neither, so I let it go for a little while. But today as I looked at Fred sitting on the bottom of his bowl, his bright blue colors gone, and his tail starting to disintegrate, I decided we finally needed to do something; I told Lily that we needed to flush him.

She did not take the news well. The tears began immediately, but I scooped Fred out of his bowl and put him in a little dish with some water so that Lily could hold him. We went into the bathroom and stood next to the toilet with Lily sobbing. She just stood there, holding the little dish with Fred in it for so long, sobbing. She didn't want let him go. I kept thinking, It's just a fish. There are so many more at the store. I even briefly left the room at one point.

As I sat there, going absolutely crazy, while trying to be calm and patient, the obvious finally dawned on me: this is her first experience with death. She doesn't know what it means, and she doesn't know how to handle it. This is one of those teachable moments in life. I'm realizing that with the busyness we have created in our world and lives, we miss out on these teachable moments. We worry about moving on and getting to the next thing on the to-do list. We are exhausted, yet still have so much more to do before we can rest. We need to take the time to stop and embrace those moments, for some day we will wish we had taught our children when we had the chance. And that is when I thought of this:

Lily may not have been using words, but she was definitely trying to tell me something. I had to listen to what she wasn't saying, wasn't understanding. This was my child's first time ever having to deal with death. To her it didn't matter if it was a person or just a fish. He was her fish and she loved him; that is what she knew. Once I calmed down and sat next to her, she finally starting talking. She expressed her concern of not seeing him again, of his broken tail, and fin on his back, and would Jesus fix him?, and could she get another fish, another blue one? She finally was able to dump him into the toilet, but we continued to sit there while she cried and cried, refusing to flush. We told her that by going down the toilet, that's how fish get to heaven.

Finally, Joel had the brilliant idea of sending some food with Fred on his journey. Lily went and got his food and stood there, next to the toilet, holding onto that little bottle of fish food. It was as if she knew that if she put some food in with him she would really have to say goodbye and it would be over. There must have been something comforting about that fish food though, (we did tell her that he would eat the food when he got to heaven, and Jesus fixed his tail and fin) because she wasn't crying anymore at that point. She eventually gave him one last goodbye and flushed the toilet.

She looked at me with sadness and a little bit of disbelief in her eyes, and I gave her a big hug and told her, "I know that was hard to do, Lily. But I am proud of you. You did a good job; you were very brave," and I just held her while she cried. Most days I am going crazy because she doesn't listen, and can't keep her hands to herself and stay out of other people's space, but my Lily is such a sweet girl with such a big, kind, and warm heart. And it is moments like these that I see her true self; the compassionate little girl that feels other people's pain, and doesn't know what to do with her own.

She went to the window and just stood there looking out as if she was checking to be sure that Fred had made it to his destination. I pointed up to the sky and said, "See the clouds up there? Fred is way up above the clouds in heaven. Jesus has fixed his tail, and he is enjoying the food you gave him." She wanted a pink airplane so that she could go see him, but I picked her up and laid her in bed next to Joel, the bottle of fish food still in her hands.

Lent: Bettering Myself (and My Relationship with Lily)

This is a post that I have been meaning to write since Mardi Gras, but as always, life gets busy and it's hard to find time to sit down and write. I always struggle with giving something up for Lent. The purpose of giving up is to recognize the sacrifice that Jesus made for us on the cross. When we are "suffering" because of our "sacrifice" we are supposed to be thinking of His suffering. But to be completely honest, the only thing that ever crosses my mind is my own suffering for having to give something up; I'm not thinking about Jesus. I think about Him on a regular basis (I mean, I do work in a Catholic church, after all) and think about His ultimate sacrifice, and I thank God daily for all of the gifts I have been given, and am given on a daily basis. Instead of giving up I try to do something to improve myself, to become more what God wants me to be. This year I was having a hard time thinking of something to do (no, I'm not saying I'm perfect, but who likes to name all the things wrong with herself?). But God spoke to me on Mardi Gras and I instantly knew what I had to do. (He always does help just in the nick of time, doesn't he?)

It was Lily's first day of swimming lessons. She was so excited for them to start, and she had so much fun hanging out in the pool and making new friends and just splashing around (she is a little fish, and very daring - she kept wading out into water that was chin-deep). When lessons were over and everyone was out of the pool, Lily was still in there, all along, walking around in the chin-deep water. The teachers were trying to get their next classes ready to get in, and I am standing there with Emmy on my hip, trying to get Lily's attention to get her out of the pool. How embarrassing!! Obviously, my frustration level was starting to rise. I finally got her out of the pool and then tried to get her into a shower to rinse off. More frustration as she would not get in the shower. Then I had to get her dried off and dressed, which was another battle. Keep in mind, I also have Emmy with me this whole time, so I'm trying to keep her near me and not wandering off while I'm dealing with Lily not listening and fighting against everything I want her to do. At this point my frustration level was very high.

As we walked out of swimming lessons, and keep in mind, my frustration level was already high from her behavior inside, she isn't listening and was just wandering and meandering. She was playing in the bike rack (one of those newer, squiggly ones), and insisted on walking through the snow, and Emmy is getting heavy on my hip and starting to slip down my jacket. My frustration level was growing even higher, and I was about to snap. But in that moment I had an epiphany. It suddenly hit me; the Spirit spoke to me. I need to try to see the world the way she does - full of awe and wonder. I need to slow down and take in the things around me, and allow her to do the same. There are so many things for her to see and figure out what they do and what their purpose is. She is only going to be a child once. She is only going to see things for the first time once, only going to learn about the world around her once. When I see her soaking in something new, I need to stop and have patience with her. I don't want to force her to grow up too fast, the world will do plenty of that for me. (That being said, I know she needs to learn how to listen and behave properly, but I don't want her spirit to be squashed either.)

So this Lent, that is what I am working on. Seeing the world through Lily's eyes and letting her do the same! So far it has been wonderful. I still have my days where I wish she would move a little faster, dawdle a little less, but that's Lily. It's just the way she is. I know that she needs to learn to listen and be on task, and we are working on that, but I want to just let her be a kid because in no time at all she will be all grown up and I will be looking back wishing I could remember her as she is now. The fact that I have been choosing my battles a little more wisely with her has really helped with her listening skills. She seems to be much better about doing the things that I ask, just because she gets a little bit of freedom at other times. We have had less time battling and more time rolling around on the floor having fun and giggling. What a joy it has been for me to experiencing more of that with her! This is definitely not just a 40 day change, this is a life change. I want my dear, sweet girl to grow up to be kind and patient. Where is she going to learn it if she doesn't learn it at home?

God bless! 0:)