I arrived with my arms full of shopping early this morning, so for once I didn’t stop to feed the fish before going in to make tea for my son. I did, however, glance over at the infirmary tank. Round Fish was in his usual place and with his usual posture in the corner of the tank. But even from here, through the opacity of the plastic and with dodgy vision, and I knew. He was gone.
There is something that has nothing to do with the infinitesimal movement of gill or fin. Some indefinable quality. The lights have gone out and life has fled, leaving only the body behind. Those who have seen death know its ‘feel’.
He had looked better… Healing had begun, the scales were beginning to go back into their place, the swollen body had begun to regain its shape… and his eyes were still bright. It was the same body. Yet something was gone and only the shell remained.
I wept as I buried him gently amid the flowers. For a fish? No, for a fellow creature who had suffered and whose story had, in some way, mirrored my son’s journey. There is little hope for a fish with dropsy. There had been little hope for my son, deep in a coma with appalling damage to his brain… a brain that continued to bleed and swell, causing ever more damage. We had been given no hope… except, just a glimmer of ‘maybe’.
So Round Fish was more than just a fish… he was more than himself. The gifts we are given can come from the smallest of things. I whispered this to the damp little body as I laid him in earth, thanking him for his gifts and sorry for being unable to do more than make him more comfortable in his last days. The last touch of water on his scales before the earth took him was the salt of tears.
I wonder if fish can swim amongst the stars?




























What I like is you kept us updated, for the rest all sadness, but you tried your best even if it was only a humble fish. No wonder your son recovered so well thanks to your care.
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Thanks, Hermann.
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Reblogged this on oshriradhekrishnabole.
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A fellow creature – indeed. I wish that more human beings started having a little respect to other living beings. I am certain that you made this creature’s life more bearable. RIP, little one.
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I hope so. It is ahrd to know what to do sometimes for the best.
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Rest In Peace, Round Fish x
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Thank you x
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Poignant and moving.
Swim swift and free Round Fish.
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You’re setting me off again… x
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I’m sorry – I’m a bit weepy myself x
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Xxx
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Awww…he will swim with the stars 🙂
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I’d like to think so 🙂
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Incredibly moving courageous lady!
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Thank you x
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I’m all teary-eyed reading this and telling myself, “He was a fish – and not even a fish you knew.” But, as you say, he was so much more than just a fish.
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He was, mary. Hugs x
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Swimming through the stars is a lovely thought, Sue. I wept as well. Thinking of you burying him – brought back my memory of carrying our Cavalier in her favourite blanket, across the lawn to where we buried her under the tree, two months ago. She joined our first dog, Jethro, the hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs, canaries, fish there – we’ve had many pet funeral processions across that lawn.Jx
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Oh I am so sorry, Judith. Losing animals hurts like hell. Hugs xxx
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Reblogged this on Barrow Blogs: .
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Oh, I am so sad reading this. You did your best Sue and at least made his last days comfortable and buried him with respect. I think he will be up there swimming with the stars.
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At least now I know he’s not in pain. I couldn’t ask… x
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Sometimes we could only allow ourselves to shed those tears we would like to shed for a loved one by crying for something else and a pet fish is a worthy thing. I have actually experienced some of my hardest psychological reactions when I’m actually “better” tthan when I’ve been in the thick of it. Could address it all then and later have the grand cathersis.
I’m sure your fish is swimming with the stars and enjoying the moonlight xx Rowena
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Thanks, Rowena. You are right… sometimes you have to wait for the adrenaline to diminish x
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I have wept enough tears this week for brave women, memories, lions, chicks and now a fish. I am on a hair trigger.. . XXS
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You and me both, Sally, this week xxx
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You are still both such strong compassionate women, Sally & Sue. Have a good weekend whatever you are doing, wherever you are. Off to see Mum myself.
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Have a good trip, Judith… and thank you!
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Reblogged this on Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life and commented:
When something has touched our hearts it is so sad when they leave us.. this week for me has brought up long buried memories as well as tears for brave women sharing their stories.. then there was Cecil the lion, day old chicks care of Jo Robinson and now this..a fish I have never even seen but who gave some form of solace and inspiration.. Get the tissues out and head over to Sue Vincent…
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Thank you, Sally x
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I’m so sorry Round Fish didn’t make it, but feel good that you cared for him and did your best. I have a terrible time with stories where animals die and seeing dead animals on the road often moves me to tears. I’d like to think he is swimming amongst the stars!
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Thanks, Noelle, I hate seeing them beside the road too.
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*sobs*
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My condolences.
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Thank you.
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What a moving story. Rest in piece, round fish. You will never forget, as I will never forget as our Blacky, the white cat, died. Keep him in mind, Sorry to hear about your son. He too, bill never be forgotten.
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Thank you, Gigi. I am sorry to hear that your Blacky passed over.
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Rip little fish xxx
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❤ xxx
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Very heartfelt story. Pets leave their mark upon our hearts.
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They do, Michelle. And this one moved me.
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Hugs
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❤
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Oh, poor sweet Roundfish. You did your very best for him and gave him a kind burial. It is sad when death comes visiting. May his body become a beautiful flower in time in the garden and his spark, a star in the sky.
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Thank you, Eliza, I was surprised at how much this got to me.
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You have such a good heart – no surprise there! 🙂
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Just a soft one sometimes 😉
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The best kind! 😉
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😉
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❤
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❤
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swim among the stars
glistening and shimmering
love is never lost
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That’s beautiful, Jean.
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Reblogged this on Anita & Jaye Dawes.
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I’m sorry for your loss. It is never easy to say goodbye, and this one was especially difficult.
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Thank you.
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Compassion is beautiful.
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🙂
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Thanks for letting your readers know what happened, Sue. I would have been wondering. Round fish’s suffering is now over. That’s always something to help us in sadness.
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Thank you, Suzanne. There is indeed.
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We felt the same when Fred – who had been beautiful – left us. We tried EVERYTHING, even joining online goldfish forums.
I Understand your sadness – I hope there is a fishy heaven.
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Yes, so do I, Alicia… they are fellow creatures, after all… never ‘just’ a fish.
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