Apr 27, 2018 6 min read

…Quite a few years ago, I wrote a column about being saddened by the loss of my pet cat – a giant, lovable orange and white tabby appropriately named Morris, who I was very attached to. And I was surprised about how emotional I became while writing that column, because I never thought that the loss of an animal would move me as much as Morris’ passing did.

I was in my 40s when Morris died after living with us for 15 years and suffering through many health issues until it was time for him to cross over Rainbow Bridge. And yet, the loss greatly impacted me. But in time I finally understood why … because, incredibly, despite my age, it was the first time in my entire life that I had a pet that I was so close with, that its death would move me to tears.

I learned a very valuable lesson during that time – that I was a pet person and that I would always have great affinity and affection for animals, especially ones that would become a member of my family.

Even now, I think about Morris from time to time, and I dearly miss him. And later, I was shocked to discover something else about myself – that I would be able to love a dog just as much, if not more, than my longtime feline buddy.

Our labrador-mix named Lexi has been with us for seven years, since she was a puppy barely two months old. And, no doubt about it, she is my baby girl. And with the memory of losing Morris – and the sadness that came with it – still fresh in my mind after all these years, I am absolutely dreading the day when we will eventually have to put her to sleep. Hopefully, that day will be a long time away, but it always crosses my mind that she will one day, too, have to cross Rainbow Bridge. And that will be a terrible, terrible day for me, and for my family.

But something occurred to me very recently during an ordeal at our house – that as tough as it will be for me to come to terms with Lexi’s passing, how devastating will it be for our five-year-old son, Bryson? And then, I began thinking about death in general, and how as parents we will eventually have to sit our little boy down and talk to him about death. Up until recently, he had not yet experienced what it feels like to lose a family member, friend or even a pet that he was close with, so when that time comes, would we be able to be good parents and explain death to him, and do it in a comforting, reassuring way?

Well, sadly, we recently found out. Because, you see, we have two goldfish – Nemo and Ranger, both named by Bryson – who have been with us for a while. Bryson won Ranger at the Greene County Fair three years ago and Nemo was bought at a pet store two years ago because Bryson wanted Ranger to have a buddy with him in the tank.

But one day last week, we came home and discovered that Nemo had passed away.

Now, I’m not going to lie to you here … I wasn’t terribly upset about it. I mean, I felt badly for the little guy, but there was no personal attachment. It’s not like I took him out for walks or played fetch with him, or ever held him in my arms. To me, he was … just a fish, swimming nonchalantly from one side of the tank to the other, just biding his time in between feedings.

I didn’t say hello or goodbye to him like I do with Lexi, I didn’t lose sleep over whether or not he ate his food. Occasionally, I would glance at him to make sure he was okay, and I admit that I was annoyed when I had to help my wife clean the tank.

But what moved me greatly was when I saw Bryson’s reaction to the passing of his little buddy.

First, he screamed, asking us what was wrong with Nemo, why was he floating on top. At that second, my wife and I looked at each other and realized that this was going to be a little traumatic for him. I gently told Bryson that Nemo had passed away because he was an older fish, but all our little guy could do was cry and beg us to make him better.

And then, he heartbreakingly told us how sad he was because he forgot to say goodbye to Nemo earlier in the day before heading off to day care, and how he wished he could tell him one more time that he loved him.

And then, I cried.

So, after he calmed down, and after I removed Nemo from the tank and placed him in a small bag out of sight, we sat down with Bryson and comforted him. We quietly, calmly explained that pets typically don’t live very long lives, and that is why we have to always care for them, and love them, as much as possible while we have them.

We explained to him that we should be grateful that God brought Nemo into our lives and that we were able to give him a good life for two years, and that we did our very best to care for him and give him a good home. And that even though he passed, he was well taken care of and he was happy.

And thankfully, that eased Bryson’s troubled mind. And he said he vowed to spend more time talking to and caring for Ranger because he knew Ranger would miss his swimming buddy. And then, he got up and walked over to our dog Lexi, gave her many kisses and the biggest hug and said, “Lexi, please don’t ever go away, please don’t ever leave me.” And Lexi replied by wagging her tail and licking his face.

And then, I cried again.

The following day, we held a funeral service for Nemo. As we buried him in our backyard, Bryson asked me to say a little prayer. At first, I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to eulogize a goldfish … but the words surprisingly came to me easily, as I thanked God for giving Bryson his little swimming buddy, for allowing Nemo to live with us for as long as he did, and most of all, for giving us that experience to teach our son a valuable life lesson and help ease our minds as parents that we were able to talk to Bryson about death, and provide the comfort he so desperately needed.

So goodbye, Nemo, and thank you for being a part of our lives. May you forever swim happily in the waters below Rainbow Bridge.