by Joanna Venditti posted in Life

Last week our family?s pet fish died. I saw it coming for days. Fluffy, (a name carefully chosen by our 6-year-old daughter Beau), wasn?t swimming around his little fish bowl like he used to.
Before his obvious shift in health, our feisty red beta fish would follow my every move during the day while our kids were at school. As I walked past his bowl, he would attempt to chase me. I?ll admit it, it was kind of creepy, the way he would stare me down each day. But when his color started to dim and his swim slowed, I missed that little stalker?s fire.

In the days leading up to his demise, I pointed out my suspicion to my husband and eventually prepped our kids, especially Beau. She seemed pretty okay with the whole process, in fact she became a little obsessed with telling people that her fish was sick and might die, adding a little flair for dramatic effect. Then the morning came? as I entered our kitchen and precariously looked at the fish bowl expecting to see an eerily still floating fish, instead I was momentarily relieved to see the surface of the bowl was void of death. But it didn?t take long for it to register that our fish took a nosedive to the bottom of the bowl. There he was, lifeless, his nose touching the bottom with his tail bobbing above his body.
My stomach dropped.
I ran upstairs and woke my husband telling him the news. "Should we dispose of the body before the kids get up"" I asked. ?No,? he sleepily respon...