Keeping my head above water

Vale, Stitch the Fish. Our Siamese fighting fish has no fight left in him. I say ‘ours’ but, really, he was mine.

I was the twit who changed his water, fed him every night and worried he was too cold, too hot, bored or lonely.

About a week ago, Stitch stopped eating, which rattled me because I am very much a feeder. In our house, food fixes sadness, stress and celebration. Food is life.

So, naturally, I fussed over the fish when he swam away from his fish flakes.

Then, I found him lying on the pebbles. I thought dead fish floated. So, I convinced myself he was having a winter nap. Turns out it was the forever kind of nap.

I pretended not to like Stitch when he was first gifted to me by my friend Tricia because I resented having one more living thing to look after. But somehow, he swam into my cold heart.

He joined me for morning coffee and Wordle, never needed lifts to sport or dance, never talked back, never made a mess or ate me out of house and home.

He just swam around, looking beautiful – basically, the perfect friend.

So, I have finally accepted that my ‘Stitchy baby’ has gone to the big fishpond in the sky.

Please, Tricia, do not buy me another fish. I have enough on my plate without checking the tank for bubbles as a sign of life. Bubbles in bottles, however, are happily accepted at all times.

It has been quite the week. We are five months into a renovation, and all the smart people told us to move out of the house.

But we swore we would be fine to live through the major changes.

I am not fine. My bedroom is now in the garage as I rummage through five cardboard boxes every morning to find an outfit for the day.