Dealing with Death

In the last two weeks we have lost two very important beings: The Queen of England and Clyde’s first goldfish.

In both circumstances trying to explain death to my son has been difficult. Your child might immediately ask about heaven, or where the body goes, or whether we will see him or her again one day. Suddenly, without necessarily being prepared, you may find yourself having to try and explain your own understanding of, or beliefs about, a very complex topic: the afterlife.

According to the Child Development Institute, it is ok to be honest with your kids about the things you do not know. Rather they suggest that the most important thing is to try and just talk, no matter how muddled and incomplete your answers might seem.

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Being Canadian I grew up with the monarchy. In fact, Canada is still ‘ruled’ (technically) by the monarchy via our Governor General. My great nation is littered with nods to the royal family in the naming of National Parks, schools, roads, and hotels. Case in point, just this past summer while home in Calgary, we visited Waterton Lakes National Park where the Prince of Wales hotel is perched overlooking the lake.

Queen Elizabeth II was an inspiration to me (and countless others), having dedicated her life in service of a difficult-to-define-and-understand institution. She met more world leaders than any other person of note. She was dismissed and treated with little regard for much of her early reign by countless British Prime Ministers (and other senior politicians). As I said to a British friend the other day, she was a feminist before the word even existed. His response was, “Quite right, Rachel. She was a feminist without even knowing it.”

How do you explain this type of service and life to a 6-year old? Especially one who is born in the very nation whose history is founded on eschewing English monarchic rule in favor of self-government?

I can’t say I did very well but we talked. I showed Clyde photos of the Queen from the recent newspapers. I spoke about her service. I mentioned places across Calgary, Waterton and Banff where she and her family are honored. We sat on the porch and contemplated these things together. If anything stuck, I will never know.

As for the goldfish, well he didn’t even live long enough to acquire a name. We were debating it the night of his passing: Bob.

I called my husband after realizing the fish was no longer moving, “One of the goldfish is dead.”

“Which one?” he asked.

“Clyde’s,” I replied.

“Oh [silence]. OK, can you scoop him out and put him in a bag in the freezer?”

“OK,” I replied.

When Clyde and I got home from riding that afternoon, as he burst through the door and headed to the tank, I quickly sputtered, “One of the goldfish died.” So much for a well rehearsed and perfect news delivery.

He stopped in his tracks and turned to me.

“Which one?” he asked.

“Yours,” I replied.

He stared at the tank for a bit. It went very silent in the room. He was processing it all. Then he burst into tears. We hugged. He sobbed. We hugged some more. To my surprise there wasn’t a lot of discussion about cause of death; rather he just asked to see him. We opened the freezer and took out the bag together. There was little fishy.

By the end of the week, the other three fish in our tank had died as well. Turns out our water balance was off. We drained the tank. Read lots more on ammonia levels in fish tank water. Then Clyde and his dad went back to the store and bought one lone goldfish.

On Day 4, Clyde turned to me at breakfast and said, “This is it. Our first fish died on Day 4.” We said a prayer to fishy the night of Day 4. When dawn broke on Day 5 guess who was first downstairs to inspect?

After fishy survived we replenished the tank with 3 additional friends. I am proud to report that after one week they are all still alive and well.

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