thoughtsgather

Another fish. Dead. I tell her at breakfast. Her father suggests that we try to keep it hidden and just get her a new one. I feel this is wrong, untruthful. I walk into the dining room where she is licking the peanut butter off her toast. She never eats the toast and I wonder why i just don’t give her a spoonful of peanut butter for breakfast. “I have some sad news” i say. She puts down the toast and turns to look at me. In that moment I wished we had simply gotten a replacement fish, but I have already started.

“your fish….”

And that was all that needed to be said. She walked into her room and saw her fish, not floating, but lying, at the bottom of the fishbowl. The sobbing came fast and fierce. I hug her. That night she and her dad come back with not one, but 6 new fish. He thinks this will buy us time.