OMG I LOVE this one, which made me laugh, and shudder, too, remembering the death of our goldfish, Joe:
“Flush it,” my four-year-old son said, and so, with a minimum of discussion, we buried our little pet. It wasn’t much of a ceremony, “flush it” being the entire requiem, but he was our fish and we loved him.
Maybe loved is too strong a word.
For that matter, maybe pet is too strong a word.
We bought Joe, a regular kinda goldfish, at Woolworth’s, for a quarter. I had some intimations of mortality—Joe’s mortality, to be exact—when I realized that a goldfish was about the cheapest thing you could buy at Woolworth’s. But my son had dropped so many hints about getting a pet—barking instead of talking when I asked him a question, pretending to eat his dinner off a dish on the floor the way a dog would—that I decided we should give it a try.
Since I don’t believe God made animals to live in city apartments, a fish seemed a good way to get our feet wet in the pet department. My son’s excitement fizzled when he realized that we were buying a goldfish, and not, as he had strongly suggested, a dolphin. But he dutifully carried Joe in a wet plastic bag the five blocks from the store to our house. In typical four-year-old style, he swung the bag around his head a few times to give Joe a thrill, or to kill him. To my astonishment, Joe did not die. I realized that in my head I was doing a kind of death check: Block three, not dead yet. Home, not dead yet. Into bowl, still not dead. Fed, not dead.
I began to root for the little guy. He was in a pretty small bowl, so we got him some bottled water to swim around in. We got him a little plant to spruce his place up and a tiny container of goldfish gourmet takeout. Every morning as soon as I woke up I rushed out of the bedroom to see if Joe was still alive. (I hesitate to point out—but in the service of honesty, I will—that I did the same thing with my son for the first three years. It amazes me that he survived, even flourished, despite my efforts at raising him. I felt the same way about Joe, though it was harder to make eye contact.)
It may have been Joe’s passive nature that turned off my son, but whatever it was, he quickly lost interest. Since I had no intention of ever moving up to a dog or a cat, I took this as a good sign: He would probably lose interest in any pet sooner or later. I felt less guilty about not getting him a real one. And I didn’t mind having to be responsible for the fish. I thought it would be easy.
For a while it was easy, though both my husband and son regarded me with disgust and suspicion whenever I spoke to Joe. Disgust, because neither could imagine why I would talk to a fish, and suspicion, because my husband surely thought that my involvement with Joe had something to do with my desire to have another baby, as in it starts with a fish, and the next thing you know….
And then, we got the chance to spend summer weekends away from the city. I was thrilled. But what would I do with Joe?
A generous neighbor offered to feed Joe during our first weekend away. But fate dealt us a heavy blow: The elevator in the building we live in broke, and she couldn’t get onto our floor.
Sometime on that humid July weekend Joe died—by his own fin, for all I know. It must have been hot up there, and lonely, and I also forgot to tell him if we were ever coming back.
“Poor Joe,” I said, when I found him floating on his side in his bowl. But I was unprepared for the shudder I felt when, for his final journey, I scooped his limp little fish body into the net. Though only the size of a peapod, he was heavy with the weight of neglect.
“Poor Joe,” I said again, really meaning it this time. I suspect that my son’s insistence on the quickest of ceremonies had something to do with the sadness he heard in my voice. Though there may be little pets, there is no such thing, I discovered, as a little death.
Val this is fantastic and so extraordinary. I love that we've had parallel experiences and the urge to tell about them. My favorite part, "My son’s excitement fizzled when he realized that we were buying a goldfish, and not, as he had strongly suggested, a dolphin." I can feel the expectation, disappointment & delight Joe carried for you all--and you, especially. FWIW none of my kids shed a tear during our recent burial.
Ah, so the secret to good writing - wait 35 years or so for the telling. Pity I can't listen to good advice, can barely wait a day now with Substack at my fingertips to fire something off!
"One fish was grey, the other insane." I really love that sentence.
Our ancient dog Dinah died about a month ago. Or to be more precise, we paid for a service where a vet and her assistant come to your house and kill your dog in your living room. I noticed that the vet pulled up in an Audi (it's dawning on me that I should probably write about this, haha). They fed her a fast-food hamburger to distract her while they did the deed. I don't know if it was from McDonald's, or Wendy's, or what. When they took her away, it was on a dog-sized stretcher, and they tucked a blanket in around her but kept her head exposed. Holy holy shit. They put Dinah's carcass in the back of the Audi and drove away. My husband David's grief was immediate and loud, and maybe for that reason, mine was somewhat delayed. She was an intense personality: beautiful, difficult, hilarious. As one friend put it, "the one, the only".
Those details, my goodness. The fast food. The car. I cannot imagine the empty space in your house after they drove her away. I'm grateful for the goldfish... even his 3" absence makes me more attuned to the beings I have still around me. Dinah's head under the sheet. Oh, my heart.
Thank you for reading your essay. It’s tasty. Your voice puts me on the couch next to you. I’m spellbound by your expert storytelling. Thank you again Isabel.
PS As per your inquiry…I lost three teeth over the past 10 years. I have implants. I can’t talk about it. The grief has invisible roots.
Oh that is an unexpected and intriguing loss. The loss of our own parts. The holes, the replacements. The cover-ups. You inspired me to read again! This was short, so that's how I find the time to sneak into a closet at 9:43pm :)
oh wow wow. this piece! gorgeous again! a friend of mine from ireland, whenever she and her young son come upon a dead animal or bug outside, they'll say "he lived a good life, and then he died." which i find to be a strange comfort when i'm dealing with the finite edges of life. cheers to zamperini and his good life!
ohhh my....of course i just spent wayyyyyyy too much time on researching Louis (love me a rabbithole and remembered i'd seen the movie but reading it is another thing entirely) so great your fine storytelling teased one from her and Valerie's line at end of hers: "there are no small deaths" pretty much nails it. Amazing lifespan for carny goldfish... maybe you might feed the dog an occasional saltine? 🤔😎
I agree... I wish I had a mind like Val's, which could sum it all up so exactly. Don't worry about the dog, she sits under the high chair and eats like a queen.
this was truly so good. revelatory. my weirdest love...man, idk, the first thing that came to mind was movie popcorn. and tortillas at restaurants. i am unable to stop consuming either of those, and isn't that love? or is that lust?
God the SMELL of movie popcorn. That greasy, salty mix of comfort and anticipation. It was so good to be a kid at the movies. I can almost get it back with the snacks.
Oh, beautiful and hilarious tribute! It's not just a goldfish, it's an era of life.
"I wondered why there was a piece of sushi on the floor!" and "A real freak." I laughed out loud.
It's all so relatable! Over 10 years ago, I cuddled up with my son on his bedroom floor while he practiced reading. While he read, I stared at his goldfishes in a small tank on his shelf. One fish slowly ate the other's fins before the end of the book. It was brutal. I watched with cold-hearted fascination. Im a monster.
But the ant farm on our kitchen counter really had my heart! I was so attached to them! Maybe because they were busy-busy all day just like me.
That is incredible. Fish are SO WEIRD. When I was a kid we had 'kissing' fish that were really cute together but suctioned other breeds to death. Oh, ants! The way they work in unison with such purpose! I could project onto that all day long.
I do remember loving a goldfish in college- where dogs, cats etc weren't welcome. That year I set the rats free from the lab ( I was put on some kind of madeup probation) and kept a couple of the rats, for a time, in my closet until my roommate betrayed me and told the housemother.
Isabel, how the heck can you make something I wouldn’t have ever thought too deeply about (the death of a goldfish) into a story about connection and understanding. I truly love the way your mind and pen works
I love my Mini Cooper. Not weird, but totally unexpected. Helping with grief? That's challenging. Sometimes I let grief and loss wash over me until it fades, but other times I'm in survival mode and compartmentalize it until I'm in a place where I feel more courageous to let it wash over me. Survival mode is doing the thing that's in front of me, and then the next. Then, I might be surprised that the grief has lightened just a bit, enough to notice. I hope your inner bruising heals, slow by slow, Isabel. Truly.
I’m sorry. And I can empathize. Somewhat. I had a pet squirrel in college that my mom overfed to the point of it having a heart attack. It died of obesity. Killed me a little, too, that she loved him more than me, her only child. At least he had a happy life.
I know, right!? I felt like I was making up half of my lived reality as I was writing it. If a lit mag picks it up, it’ll be published this fall. If not, I’ll be sure to tag you when I publish it here 😍
Hehehe I used to do it more often but was too much of a perfectionist and they took forever. This time I promised myself 1 take only, so it was much easier. I'll do more!
And yeah…the dog. New to rural North Carolina, I picked up the crazy dog running between cars on Route 70. The nice police person informed me that I now had a dog. No, I have dogs. Apparently I now had four Dachshunds and feral Lexie. She tested positive for every worm except for heart worm. She was a flying squirrel for six months until a new vet found a calming med that her crazy brain could not defeat.
She became the dog who taught my New England dogs about survival in the mountains. She told us when Baron wandered through a hole in the fence. She saved Abigail from a Copperhead. She brought Jasper to me when he was choking on roots. And she rounded up Hannah during her old age meandering.
Lex was the best. My last try after taking her to the police station was to my friend who owned the pet store. All her people who fostered were covered up.
God, a decade of loving that one who looked me straight on the eye- you’re mine- i still miss the way she freaked out over a fly but could save a Dachshund from a Copperhead.
OMG I LOVE this one, which made me laugh, and shudder, too, remembering the death of our goldfish, Joe:
“Flush it,” my four-year-old son said, and so, with a minimum of discussion, we buried our little pet. It wasn’t much of a ceremony, “flush it” being the entire requiem, but he was our fish and we loved him.
Maybe loved is too strong a word.
For that matter, maybe pet is too strong a word.
We bought Joe, a regular kinda goldfish, at Woolworth’s, for a quarter. I had some intimations of mortality—Joe’s mortality, to be exact—when I realized that a goldfish was about the cheapest thing you could buy at Woolworth’s. But my son had dropped so many hints about getting a pet—barking instead of talking when I asked him a question, pretending to eat his dinner off a dish on the floor the way a dog would—that I decided we should give it a try.
Since I don’t believe God made animals to live in city apartments, a fish seemed a good way to get our feet wet in the pet department. My son’s excitement fizzled when he realized that we were buying a goldfish, and not, as he had strongly suggested, a dolphin. But he dutifully carried Joe in a wet plastic bag the five blocks from the store to our house. In typical four-year-old style, he swung the bag around his head a few times to give Joe a thrill, or to kill him. To my astonishment, Joe did not die. I realized that in my head I was doing a kind of death check: Block three, not dead yet. Home, not dead yet. Into bowl, still not dead. Fed, not dead.
I began to root for the little guy. He was in a pretty small bowl, so we got him some bottled water to swim around in. We got him a little plant to spruce his place up and a tiny container of goldfish gourmet takeout. Every morning as soon as I woke up I rushed out of the bedroom to see if Joe was still alive. (I hesitate to point out—but in the service of honesty, I will—that I did the same thing with my son for the first three years. It amazes me that he survived, even flourished, despite my efforts at raising him. I felt the same way about Joe, though it was harder to make eye contact.)
It may have been Joe’s passive nature that turned off my son, but whatever it was, he quickly lost interest. Since I had no intention of ever moving up to a dog or a cat, I took this as a good sign: He would probably lose interest in any pet sooner or later. I felt less guilty about not getting him a real one. And I didn’t mind having to be responsible for the fish. I thought it would be easy.
For a while it was easy, though both my husband and son regarded me with disgust and suspicion whenever I spoke to Joe. Disgust, because neither could imagine why I would talk to a fish, and suspicion, because my husband surely thought that my involvement with Joe had something to do with my desire to have another baby, as in it starts with a fish, and the next thing you know….
And then, we got the chance to spend summer weekends away from the city. I was thrilled. But what would I do with Joe?
A generous neighbor offered to feed Joe during our first weekend away. But fate dealt us a heavy blow: The elevator in the building we live in broke, and she couldn’t get onto our floor.
Sometime on that humid July weekend Joe died—by his own fin, for all I know. It must have been hot up there, and lonely, and I also forgot to tell him if we were ever coming back.
“Poor Joe,” I said, when I found him floating on his side in his bowl. But I was unprepared for the shudder I felt when, for his final journey, I scooped his limp little fish body into the net. Though only the size of a peapod, he was heavy with the weight of neglect.
“Poor Joe,” I said again, really meaning it this time. I suspect that my son’s insistence on the quickest of ceremonies had something to do with the sadness he heard in my voice. Though there may be little pets, there is no such thing, I discovered, as a little death.
Val this is fantastic and so extraordinary. I love that we've had parallel experiences and the urge to tell about them. My favorite part, "My son’s excitement fizzled when he realized that we were buying a goldfish, and not, as he had strongly suggested, a dolphin." I can feel the expectation, disappointment & delight Joe carried for you all--and you, especially. FWIW none of my kids shed a tear during our recent burial.
This is fantastic. My condolences
Helena, it was a long time ago! (My son is now over 40...) xo
Ah, so the secret to good writing - wait 35 years or so for the telling. Pity I can't listen to good advice, can barely wait a day now with Substack at my fingertips to fire something off!
Helena, I wrote this when my son was four, so waiting isn't the trick (if there is one!). xo
This is amazing.
"One fish was grey, the other insane." I really love that sentence.
Our ancient dog Dinah died about a month ago. Or to be more precise, we paid for a service where a vet and her assistant come to your house and kill your dog in your living room. I noticed that the vet pulled up in an Audi (it's dawning on me that I should probably write about this, haha). They fed her a fast-food hamburger to distract her while they did the deed. I don't know if it was from McDonald's, or Wendy's, or what. When they took her away, it was on a dog-sized stretcher, and they tucked a blanket in around her but kept her head exposed. Holy holy shit. They put Dinah's carcass in the back of the Audi and drove away. My husband David's grief was immediate and loud, and maybe for that reason, mine was somewhat delayed. She was an intense personality: beautiful, difficult, hilarious. As one friend put it, "the one, the only".
Those details, my goodness. The fast food. The car. I cannot imagine the empty space in your house after they drove her away. I'm grateful for the goldfish... even his 3" absence makes me more attuned to the beings I have still around me. Dinah's head under the sheet. Oh, my heart.
Yes, she left a large Dinah-shaped hole for sure.
Thank you for reading your essay. It’s tasty. Your voice puts me on the couch next to you. I’m spellbound by your expert storytelling. Thank you again Isabel.
PS As per your inquiry…I lost three teeth over the past 10 years. I have implants. I can’t talk about it. The grief has invisible roots.
Oh that is an unexpected and intriguing loss. The loss of our own parts. The holes, the replacements. The cover-ups. You inspired me to read again! This was short, so that's how I find the time to sneak into a closet at 9:43pm :)
Mothers know closets
Helene, I can relate to tooth loss. It's an intense grief I never even thought was a thing in my younger days.
Thanks for saying so. And nothing takes the place of them huh? I find the loss very connected to my mother. Loss is real and is crazy like this.
Indeed.
oh wow wow. this piece! gorgeous again! a friend of mine from ireland, whenever she and her young son come upon a dead animal or bug outside, they'll say "he lived a good life, and then he died." which i find to be a strange comfort when i'm dealing with the finite edges of life. cheers to zamperini and his good life!
I love that, too. Very direct. Head on. Let's face this thing. Life is good, and death is inevitable. Onward!
yes! your comment made me think of the Talking Heads:
"It's good to lose and it's good to win sometimes / It's good to die and it's good to be alive" <3
"goldfish gourmet takeout" 🙏
What she experienced when she saw that drying fish perplexes me still.
ohhh my....of course i just spent wayyyyyyy too much time on researching Louis (love me a rabbithole and remembered i'd seen the movie but reading it is another thing entirely) so great your fine storytelling teased one from her and Valerie's line at end of hers: "there are no small deaths" pretty much nails it. Amazing lifespan for carny goldfish... maybe you might feed the dog an occasional saltine? 🤔😎
I agree... I wish I had a mind like Val's, which could sum it all up so exactly. Don't worry about the dog, she sits under the high chair and eats like a queen.
this was truly so good. revelatory. my weirdest love...man, idk, the first thing that came to mind was movie popcorn. and tortillas at restaurants. i am unable to stop consuming either of those, and isn't that love? or is that lust?
God the SMELL of movie popcorn. That greasy, salty mix of comfort and anticipation. It was so good to be a kid at the movies. I can almost get it back with the snacks.
Oh, beautiful and hilarious tribute! It's not just a goldfish, it's an era of life.
"I wondered why there was a piece of sushi on the floor!" and "A real freak." I laughed out loud.
It's all so relatable! Over 10 years ago, I cuddled up with my son on his bedroom floor while he practiced reading. While he read, I stared at his goldfishes in a small tank on his shelf. One fish slowly ate the other's fins before the end of the book. It was brutal. I watched with cold-hearted fascination. Im a monster.
But the ant farm on our kitchen counter really had my heart! I was so attached to them! Maybe because they were busy-busy all day just like me.
That is incredible. Fish are SO WEIRD. When I was a kid we had 'kissing' fish that were really cute together but suctioned other breeds to death. Oh, ants! The way they work in unison with such purpose! I could project onto that all day long.
I do remember loving a goldfish in college- where dogs, cats etc weren't welcome. That year I set the rats free from the lab ( I was put on some kind of madeup probation) and kept a couple of the rats, for a time, in my closet until my roommate betrayed me and told the housemother.
What?! What happened next? This sounds like a Roald Dahl book!!!
Only you can make a goldfish story both funny and sad!! I wonder what it’s like to live with your brain 😂
both funny and sad!!!
Isabel, how the heck can you make something I wouldn’t have ever thought too deeply about (the death of a goldfish) into a story about connection and understanding. I truly love the way your mind and pen works
This is EXACTLY the comment I dream of receiving. Thank you!!!!
Love your mom’s comment. I do grieve at your loss but he was loved
She delivered it so perfectly--I could never capture the deadpan humor.
I love my Mini Cooper. Not weird, but totally unexpected. Helping with grief? That's challenging. Sometimes I let grief and loss wash over me until it fades, but other times I'm in survival mode and compartmentalize it until I'm in a place where I feel more courageous to let it wash over me. Survival mode is doing the thing that's in front of me, and then the next. Then, I might be surprised that the grief has lightened just a bit, enough to notice. I hope your inner bruising heals, slow by slow, Isabel. Truly.
I love this practice. Take on what you can. Sometimes, it really is too much to let in all the feelings.
Yup, sometimes too much, and way too much.
ooo, Isabel!!! grief is grief. what else is there to say?!
This one really surprised me!
I’m sorry. And I can empathize. Somewhat. I had a pet squirrel in college that my mom overfed to the point of it having a heart attack. It died of obesity. Killed me a little, too, that she loved him more than me, her only child. At least he had a happy life.
A squirrel!!! Who died of obesity? For whom you competed for your mother's love? When can we see that essay, please!
I know, right!? I felt like I was making up half of my lived reality as I was writing it. If a lit mag picks it up, it’ll be published this fall. If not, I’ll be sure to tag you when I publish it here 😍
Dude!!
Is this the first time you read? You’re perfect. 🥰😘💫
Hehehe I used to do it more often but was too much of a perfectionist and they took forever. This time I promised myself 1 take only, so it was much easier. I'll do more!
Hehe! I had maybe 4 comments on my last Substack when there used to be a robust community. I didn’t record. My bad.
YOU are the best!!
And yeah…the dog. New to rural North Carolina, I picked up the crazy dog running between cars on Route 70. The nice police person informed me that I now had a dog. No, I have dogs. Apparently I now had four Dachshunds and feral Lexie. She tested positive for every worm except for heart worm. She was a flying squirrel for six months until a new vet found a calming med that her crazy brain could not defeat.
She became the dog who taught my New England dogs about survival in the mountains. She told us when Baron wandered through a hole in the fence. She saved Abigail from a Copperhead. She brought Jasper to me when he was choking on roots. And she rounded up Hannah during her old age meandering.
Thanks for the inspiration to remember Lex🐾♥️
WOW that dog was a blessing!
Lex was the best. My last try after taking her to the police station was to my friend who owned the pet store. All her people who fostered were covered up.
God, a decade of loving that one who looked me straight on the eye- you’re mine- i still miss the way she freaked out over a fly but could save a Dachshund from a Copperhead.