This isn’t a pretty post and I apologize in advance for my language and anger.
Andrew and Molly came home with a 10
gallon fish tank 3 days ago. Molly thoughtfully hand picked 6 fish...
one for each member of our family and we each picked a name for our
fish...
Andrew: Big Daddy
Jaime: Feisty
Molly: Amber
William: Noodle
Matthew: Dash
Claire: Peanut
Can you see where this post may be going yet?
My silly, immature, petty fear was that one fish would die before the others. And this morning...
What do you know?
The stupid fucking fish was dead.
Why her fish first?
Haven’t I hurt enough?
It’s silly, I know. But I lost it. And
all the kids wanted to do was talk about it and look at it and ask more
questions about it and all I wanted to do was take that fucking tank
and toss it, smash it to pieces.
My heart just broke all. over. again. Over a tiny little fish that would have eventually died anyway.
Claire’s fish has no heartbeat.
She died too.
Stupid f’in fish.
