I was getting my son his breakfast this morning and glanced over at the fish tanks. I noticed immediately Swimmy was no longer “swimming” it was more like a float. My son immediately registered the look on my face and went over to the fish tank. In the sweetest, tiny voice he said, “Is Swimmy dead? Is he dead?” I remained silent. Trying to gather my thoughts on what to say to him. “Is Swimmy dead?” he asked again. Sadly, he was. A closer look confirmed. Then my heart broke. His little heart was broken and the tears flowed. I got him Swimmy four years ago. He was too little to go on the canoe trip with his brothers so we went and got a fishy. He’s taken care of him ever since. Never had to remind him to feed him. He would have conversations with Swimmy daily. Now my baby was crushed.

We dried up the tears and off to school he went. I told him we would send Swimmy down the Potty Pipeline when I got home from work. Later in the day I got a text from husband saying the kids want a “proper burial” for Swimmy. No sewer for this finned friend. It was requested that I go get a “casket” and “headstone.” My only worry was the neighborhood cat posse looking for a snack and digging up my yard, but my husband made provisions. He should be safe.

So when I got home I attended my very first fish burial complete with Taps and it went like this.

REST IN PEACE DEAR SWIMMY.