Swimmer’s gone

My grandson is allergic to almost everything — cats, dogs, and peanuts.  So a year ago last June we bought him a blue Beta fish with a pretty bowl that sat on a base that changed colors.  The Bug named him Swimmer.

Swimmer would do what he did best — swim to the edge of the bowl and shake his little tail anxiously when the GAP tapped his feed container on the side of the glass.

But last night, he attempted to take his own life.  When the family returned, he lay on the hard cold tile floor.  The GAP found him, still a little life left in his iridescent blue body.  She gently placed him back in the bowl and the little frail fish bravely swam over to the edge.  He lingered, almost as if to take a longing look at his family, then swam slowly in a circle.

The Bug stared at him.  The next twenty-four hours were critical. 

“He didn’t make it,” the GAP told my grandson in the morning.  “His little body was just too weak.”

“At least I got to say goodbye,” the Bug said tearfully. 

Dang, prepped for this day by Nemo or not, I hate some of life’s lessons.

Related posts:

1. Letting go, almost
2. Play ball
3. What’s in a name?
4. Grandma reservations
5. I am woman, hear me roar