Long Live the Fish

SK found him this morning.

"Mama, Cheech is dead!" he shouted across the house.

"Are you sure?" I replied. Silly question, I realized upon seeing him. There was no mistaking it.
So, not only did I get the fun job of disposing of our sole pet, I got to, once again, try to explain death.

"He needs to wake up!"
"He's not going to wake up."

"He's hungry. Let's feed him."
"He's not ever going to eat again. He doesn't feel hungry, he doesn't feel anything."

"Make him go. He doesn't want to be dead."
"He's not going to go anymore. He doesn't know he's dead."

"Let's go to the store and get another one."
How do I respond to that? Hmmm. "Not right now."

I don't think he's really broken-hearted. Mostly, he's just confused. There are a lot of things confusing about his life right now. I wonder how he'll remember this?

Like my brother once said, I'm just glad it wasn't a horse.