Memories

“He looks better than he has for days,” I said. “The medicine must have worked; he isn’t covered with fungus anymore.” “Yeah, his color is almost back to normal,” my college-age son agreed, as he bent over the goldfish bowl. “Yes, he’s actually looking pretty good, almost healthy.” There was a pause “It’s too bad he’s dead.” “Yup,” I said. Indeed, Mr. Fish was floating belly-up, definitely dead. And we felt sad, reluctant to scoop him out. After all, he had been a member of our family for more than eight years. We had become as attached to Mr. Fish as it is possible to become attached to a fish. Also, he was the last of the childhood family pets. We reminisced about the day my son brought the two tiny black fish home from the pet store. They had seemed happy in the fish bowl. Then, about a week…