Losing Lapis

Our beautiful Beta fish, Lapis, breathed his last ragged breath a few minutes ago.  He was with us for almost two years and as much as I tried not to get attached to him, I have to admit that I did.

Like most Beta’s, Lapis was a very social fish.  He would swim up to the surface of the water whenever we would approach his tank, and he spent many hours keeping my daughter company, watching her draw and do her homework at her desk.

This past weekend, Lapis stopped eating.  A few days later, I found him lying on his side at the bottom of the tank and watched as he darted up to the surface for a breath of air and then fall back down onto the gravel.  Realizing how much energy it was taking him to get to the surface of the water; I moved him into a small glass bowl with a few inches of water and placed the bowl on the desk in my office.  That seemed to help a bit, so while I worked, I was able to watch him, talk to him, play music for him, pray for him and let him know that he wasn’t suffering alone.  Then I found myself shaking my head and saying, “What the heck is wrong with you?  It’s just a fish!  Pull yourself together!”  Even my friends gently teased me about how I was carrying on about a dying fish.

But this wasn’t just about a fish. It was about an intensely magnified look inside of my heart and my daughter’s heart.  And it was a very hard look and a painful lesson for us both.

For my daughter, it was a lesson in compassion and the realization that fish need care and attention, just like any other pet.  You can’t just shake a little food in the tank every night and turn out the light.  They get diseases, they get sick and Mom can’t fix everything.

For me, it was a lesson in understanding a limitation in my daughter. I wanted her to be more upset seeing her pet in distress.  I wanted her to care MORE.  I wanted her to cry.  I wanted her to be the more compassionate form of me that I wasn’t.

Then the realization hit me.  Children learn compassion from the people around them.  They’re not born with it.  And no matter how many times you try to help them understand, they may not hear you.  It won’t be because they don’t want to; it will be because they don’t know how.  And she didn’t need to be the more compassionate form of me.  That was my job, my cross to bear.

So, I wept for Lapis.  And while I apologized that we didn’t do a better job caring for him, I promised him that his suffering wasn’t in vain. That he brought value to our lives in the form of a lesson in love.

I don’t know if animals have souls or not.  I’ve heard the arguments both ways. I do believe that since God created them here on earth, then they will also be with us in heaven.  I pray that in the meantime, I will continue to grow in my walk with Him and learn how to better exemplify that unending, amazing, compassionate Grace that He extends to us, every day.

Lapis, thank you.  We will miss you.