Our stupid fish died. And our baby died, too.

Our stupid fish died. And our baby died, too.

I cried when he brought lunch to me in our home office and told me our fish had died.

It wasn’t that I was particularly fond of that stupid fish. Fish don’t have much personality and I understand that they don’t have long a lifespan and that humans can easily ruin them if we’re not careful. I knew the fragility of life in the fishbowl when I bought him and I thought the risk was worth it in order to do something special during a difficult time.

That stupid fish was born out of my daughter’s death. That fish was a symbol of hope and new life while I grieved the loss of my newest child by taking the hand of my eldest so we could make a big deal about the choosing of our first family pet together in aisle three of the Pet Emporium.

For days and weeks, and—yes—even months I checked that fish multiple times a day for signs of life. I muttered curse words under my breath at the insanity of getting him in the first place when I was terrified that he would die, forcing me to hold my son’s cheeks and explain to him about death one more time.

I was secretly afraid that a dead fish would mean that I somehow failed.

But instead he told me matter-of-factly, “Fishy Coco is dead mama. Daddy ‘fushed’ him down the toilet.”

And he was totally fine with it. He never blamed anyone or asked why or even got upset. Things live and die; I guess he’s starting to understand that in a three-year-old sort of way.

I never imagined my small child to be so well acquainted with the concepts of death to the point where I didn’t need to be protective or smooth over the finality of it all. I never expected him to have the capacity to let go so easily.

Granted, losing the fish is completely different than losing a family member or a friend (or even a dog or cat), but it still surprised me – the ease in which he’s been able to embrace the reality of the other side of what we see now.

I’ve been crying a lot about losing baby Scarlett lately. For a long time my tears had dried up but recently I’m not sure that I’ve missed a day without tears blurring my eyes at some point while doing laundry or flipping through a junk mail catalogue, or driving to the grocery store, or thinking about nothing.

In bed last night I cried myself to sleep, sniffling under the blanket and wishing I was tossing and turning with my about-to-burst belly that should have been swelling near full term by now. (I feel robbed.)

There’s not much that I hate, but I do hate that life is not fair. It’s really just not fair.

And when I woke up this morning I checked to see Fishy Coco in his bowl, making sure that he at least was still alive – my little piece of life safely contained in a pretty glass bowl. Because somehow that stupid fish was wrapped up in my expectations of life sustained, and conquering the hard, and the balance of things being right.

Hours later and he was gone too. Stupid fish. Stupid fish that made me cry.

Levi often talks about getting a new baby that we can take home and he asks God to give us one that won’t die. He tells me that he’s sad that Scarlett died but that we get to see her in heaven one day. Then he asks if we will die soon so we can go there and I tell him, no, I don’t think so, but only God knows the number of our days.

“I think we will get a new baby, mama,” he says in earnest. And I pray that he’s right.

But really, I just want the one I already love.

Dear friends, have you had to deal with the subject of death with your little ones much? What have you learned?


P.S. I wrote this a little while ago now. And then a few days ago Levi said to me, “Wook mama! There’s a baby in your belly! I see it! Your belly’s getting bigger!” I chuckled as I explained to him that it was just my ‘woman pooch’ and I’ve had that thing far before I ever even became a mom. (But thanks anyway for the keen observation, son.)

About Author

Adriel Booker is an author, speaker, and advocate based in Sydney, Australia who believes storytelling, beauty, and the grace of God will change the world. Adriel has become a trusted voice in areas of motherhood and parenting, Christian spirituality, and global women's issues. She's also known for her work with the Love A Mama Collective—serving under-resourced women in developing nations through safe birth initiatives—as well as her years spent as a Bible teacher and leadership coach. Her latest book is Grace Like Scarlett: Grieving with Hope after Miscarriage and Loss and she's made the companion grief journal available for free. Find Adriel across all social media platforms at @adrielbooker or sign up for LoveNotes, Adriel's 'secret posts' that aren't published anywhere else online. ✌️


  • kate
    24 September 2013 at 4:00 pm

    My three year old recently started talking about death and really understanding it… I wrote a blog post on it http://katesurfs.wordpress.com/2013/05/15/conversations-of-death-with-a-three-year-old/

  • Alana
    25 September 2013 at 7:41 am

    Our baby boy died in may this year and I had to explain to my kids why all of a sudden they would not be getting a new brother this year. They were sad but the thought of him being with Jesus made it ok for them. I to have been feeling the pain of it a lot more recently..all these people that were pregnant with me are giving birth and as I hold their babies I can’t help but see my own, but its not my own, and instead of taking a baby home i give it back because its not mine….it’s so hard..praying for you at this time that God gives you the strength you need.

  • Kristi Bothur
    25 September 2013 at 9:20 am

    I have three babies in Heaven and have had a lot of conversations about it with our now-five-year-old (she was age one and two when we lost our babies). We have had a number of church friends die in the last several years, and she has a keen awareness of what death means. We were talking today about how when someone dies and goes to be with Jesus, the ones who are left behind are sad because we miss them, even though we’re not sad for them. She responded, “It’s like dropping someone off at school and not picking them up until the summer.” Which is a long long time to a five-year-old. But it’s true. We’ll see them again…in the eternal Summer.

    I made a list of resources for talking with children about the loss of a sibling here: http://oneinheaven.weebly.com/resources.html. Hope it helps someone. 🙂


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