Phlippy Phuneral

Phlippy the fish hadn't eaten all weekend.  So on Sunday afternoon, I hurried to Petsmart to get, I don't know, drops that would make dying fish live?  Things for neutralizing Ph and such.  While the kids and I did a 25% water change and gave him his broadrange fishy antibiotics, Sloan reminded me that the meds cost more than the $3 goldfish and that he was pretty sure Phlippy had signed a DNR.

And I get it.  It's a fish.  But it is also my kids first up close experience with death.   I wanted to be careful with how it was dealt.  Henry prayed for Phlippy every night.  For Jesus to heal him and make him be flippy and swimmy again.  We'd be out shopping and Henry would randomly say, "Mom, I'm worried about Phlippy."  So even though there a a part of me that wanted to snicker, I said, "Well, sweetie, then we should pray for God to heal our fish because God is powerful and in control.  Just remember that sometimes a healing can come in the form of death."

Which then would then translate into a discussion of heaven.  How in heaven there is no pain or death or black spots on fish.  That when Jesus returns all things will be new and there will be no more tears.

Now some people don't believe all dogs (and fish) go to heaven.  And to be sure, I'm not exactly sure about the whole theology of it.  But it seems to me that if Eden before the fall had fish and animals in it, a new heaven and a new earth would include the animal kingdom.  Yes, there's the whole "but animals aren't created in the image of God" argument, but Romans also tells us that ALL of creation is groaning and waiting for the redemption of the Lord.

So I did not feel even the slightest bit deceitful when upon returning from the gym this morning and discovered that Phlippy was no longer breathing,  I told Henry and Grace that Phlippy had gone to be with Jesus.  That he was no longer hurting or struggling to breath at the bottom of the fish tank.  To which Henry said, "Uh, mom, but Phlippy is still at the bottom of the fish tank."

Details, details.  I am not getting into a discussion about souls and bodies and the like with a 5 year old before I've even had a shower.

We let Henry decide whether we should have an outdoor burial or, perhaps, "at sea" (thank you Nemo for teaching our kids that all toilets lead to the ocean...).  He chose to give Phlippy a watery grave.  Like the Huxtables, we prayed over the toilet.  For Jesus to receive our fish.

And then Henry scurried off to cry by himself.

It was hard for me.  I wanted to comfort him.  To wrap him up in my arms and tell him it would be alright and maybe we could go get some ice cream. That we'd buy him a new fish bigger and better than that old fish.  But I also knew that this very moment could possibly shape the way he handled disappointment and grief for the rest of his life.  (I tend to be a little dramatic. At times.) 

I went to him slowly, sitting next to him on our living room couch.  His whole body was shaking.  I wrapped him in my lap and kissed his forehead.  "I'm just so sad for Phlippy," he said.

"Darling, it is very sad that Phlippy is dead.  You are right to miss him and be sad.  But this hurt, this death, is exactly why Jesus came.  When Jesus rose from the dead on Easter Sunday, he defeated death.  And when he returns, there will be no more death.  Ever.  And so that's our hope.  That's what we look forward to.  But it is still sad.  So if you need to cry, cry."

He rubbed his eyes, then looked up at me.  "When I'm done crying, can we go get a new fish?"

I chuckled.  "Not today.  How about next week after we visit Grandma and Grandpa Phillips?"

At this point, Gracie ran into the living room chomping on a chocalate coin, her "treat" for going poo on the potty.  (Yes.  I use chocolate.  Stop judging me.)

"Okay.  Can I have a chocolate coin now?"

"Yes, my dear.  You can have a chocolate coin."

Because it's also true that even when something you love can't be replaced,  a little piece of chocolate goes a long way in reminding us that all things bitter can be sweet as well.