Until I was six years old I lived with my mother and father in rural Missouri. It seems like such a small part of my life, yet many things I experienced there have continued to have an impact on me throughout life. Living in the country offered opportunity to have exposure to animals that I have not had since. There were the chickens, the cows, the pigs, and my pet sheep. I had the traditional pets as well, a dog and some goldfish—several goldfish. They just seemed to keep dying.
Having pets is a valuable lesson in the childhood development of the awareness of death. Indeed, as a child of the country I learned early on that all things die. It was a part of country living. I knew why we had pigs—Daddy liked bacon. I knew why we had cows—so the kids wouldn’t eat Daddy’s pork. I knew why we had chickens—for the eggs to go with Daddy’s bacon and the chicken and dumplings for Sunday dinner. But, why did my dog have to die? I knew my dog died, even if they didn’t tell me. I heard Daddy telling Momma about it before they thought I was awake. I knew because I was a country kid. I knew everything died; I just didn’t know why. Why did my goldfish die? I wasn’t sure. Years later I can deduce that it may have been the high levels of lead content that were discovered to provide such a significant health threat to the water supply of many wells in that region of Missouri known as the “Lead Belt.”
I didn’t know why my goldfish died but my goldfish seemed to give me my first opportunity to learn about death. I learned early on one of the first myths of grieving. If your kid’s goldfish dies, just replace it. Not the best of bereavement support or guidance. It would be sure to fail when somebody in my life died. It did beat not even trying to explain why the dog just stopped coming home.
I was putting things together. Everything died. Some things died for a reason. Others just died but they were still dead. And being dead meant dead for good. That dog never did come back home and I knew to not even expect it, being in on the secret of his being dead and all. Why didn’t they just tell me? What did they think I thought happened to that dog? My own imagination would probably have concocted something worse than him getting to the highway and being hit by a car.
Still, even as a child of the country, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do when something died. It seemed that when my goldfish died it was different than when the chickens died. I seemed to need something. I needed to do something. So, as a preschooler, I began to conduct funerals for my goldfish when they died for whatever the reason. I didn’t know if it would explain why the fish died but it just seemed like I should do something.
I would get one of Daddy’s empty match boxes, wrap the poor little fish in a tissue and gently put it in the match box. The goldfish cemetery was out by the cistern which held our drinking water—that had a much quicker effect on goldfish than it did people. With whatever digging implement I could find and could lift I would dig the grave. While this may not have been the most appropriate mode of burial for a goldfish, it was the best I could do. We had nothing in our house at the time which flushed. I would get my Bible, which I couldn’t read, stand boldly and begin the funeral. I don’t really remember what I said exactly. It seems like I would talk about how special the goldfish was and how sad I was that the fish had died. I prayed. I am not sure what I prayed exactly but I recall that I trusted God when the care of the fish was out of my hands. The funerals that seemed to “work” the best was when playmates could be there. I wasn’t sure what funerals were supposed to do. I didn’t even know what it was that “worked” better when others were there, it just seemed to make me feel a little better than when I did the funerals by myself.
So, welcome to my Goldfish Funerals. Something I have to do and stuff I have to say that may actually raise more questions than it answers. Stuff that, like my playmates, you may not be the least bit interested in. But, stuff that I need to say because of something I have experienced. Stuff, that when pieced together, makes up my encounter with the Divine Mystery of living and dying. So, thanks for coming.
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