On Fish and Heaven - MULTIPLYING - Summary of Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life - Book Summary

Summary of Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life - Book Summary (2016)

Part III. MULTIPLYING

Chapter 26. On Fish and Heaven

Our family’s first brush with death occurred when Chase’s fish, Jacob, died. We had several beta fish over the years, and we’d replace each of the deceased without a single tear from the kids. But Jacob was special. He swam around in Chase’s room for two years and survived a million sticky fingers and more than a few missed meals. Jacob kept an eye on things for us. We thought him very wise and responsible. I once admitted to the kids that I loved Daddy more than Jacob, and they were so hysterically horrified that I was forced to recant and promise that I did, in fact, love Daddy and Jacob exactly the same. Jacob was one of us.

We decided to tell the kids about Jacob’s death right away so that there were no accidental surprises. All three children were playing together in the family room, so Craig and I sat down near them and I said, “We have some very sad news, guys.” Their bodies froze and their little heads swiveled toward me. I said solemnly and quietly, “Jacob died this morning.” I had resolved not to try to soften the blow by explaining it away prettily.

Tish immediately started to sob. I picked her up off the floor and she buried her face into my hair and curled into a teeny ball of self-preservation, like a roly-poly. Chase quickly covered his mouth with his hand, but not before I noticed the hint of a grin that curled his lips. This nervous grin is his first line of defense. He asked if he could see Jacob. I moved Tish to Craig’s lap while Amma, looking concerned, waddled over to Tish and patted her curls lovingly, then whacked her hard on the forehead and grinned. Tish’s whimper turned into a wail. Craig and I shot each other good luck glances, and I followed Chase up the stairs to view the body.

Chase walked into his room and marched like a soldier directly to the tank. When he saw Jacob’s lifeless body, he noticed that his friend’s vibrant red color had faded to gray. He asked why, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He just covered his eyes with his little second-grade hands so that finally the tears could come. They streamed down his cheeks as his shoulders fell and shook, and he crumbled into me.

I wanted so badly to tell Chase that it was okay, that we would replace Jacob with a new fish, a bigger fish, a whole school of fish, but I didn’t. This was his first experience with death, and I wouldn’t suggest to him that death can be cheated through replacement. I wouldn’t teach him that pain should be avoided, dodged, or danced around. He needed to learn that death is worthy of grief because it’s final, for now. So we just sat on his bottom bunk and held each other tight.

Chase cried and shook and begged me for answers. He said, It’s not about Jacob, Mom. It’s that everything we love is going die. How do we survive that? And before I could answer, he said, I know what you’re going to say about heaven, Mom, but how do you know it’s real? You don’t. And I don’t know if I can believe in it.

I didn’t offer many brilliant answers to my baby’s brilliant questions. I was just grateful to be able to tell him truthfully that Yes, I believe that there is some sort of heaven, though I doubt it’s like anything we’ve heard described. When he asked how I believed, I told him that I believe because I have to—because if I didn’t believe, the terror that was gripping his heart, the terror of losing the people I love forever, would overtake me and I’d have no joy or hope and I’d die inside. I told him that I believe because I have no other choice, because I was made to believe, because if I didn’t believe in life after death I wouldn’t be able to live life before death. I’d panic and then freeze. When he asked me what I believed heaven was like, I told him that I believe heaven is a place where everyone loves each other perfectly.

When he asked me, Why, Mom? Why does God send us here, where things hurt so much? Why does he make us love things that he knows we’re going to lose? I told him that we don’t love people and animals because we will have them forever; we love them because loving them changes us, makes us better, healthier, kinder, realer. Loving people and animals makes us stronger in the right ways and weaker in the right ways. Even if animals and people leave, even if they die, they leave us better. So we keep loving, even though we might lose, because loving teaches us and changes us. And that’s what we’re here to do. God sends us here to learn how to be better lovers, and to learn how to be loved, so we’ll be prepared for heaven.

When I finished this part, Chase looked right into my eyes. His tears cleared for a moment and he said, “Yes. I can believe that part. That sounds right. I believe that.”

After a few more minutes, Tish walked into Chase’s room, her eyes still red and her lips still quivering. She climbed onto the bunk and wedged herself between Chase and me. Craig and Amma followed her in and lay down on the floor together. Tish said softly, “I want Jacob to come back to life.” Chase lifted his head toward Tish and with glistening eyes, he said, “Well, he won’t come back to life here, but he will in heaven. So it’s not all sad, Tish.” Then he stopped crying. Sometimes the only way to transcend grief is to help someone littler transcend hers.

I stepped gratefully through the door of hope that Chase had opened for us. I had been waiting for his permission, because the one closest to the departed has to be the first to step from despair to hope. Nobody else is allowed to jump ahead and shove open the door. That’s the rule.

I said, “Hey, guys, do you think in heaven, Jacob won’t be a fighting fish anymore? Maybe in heaven he’ll be a peaceful fish and finally get to swim around with his buddies and play.”

Chase’s eyes still glistened while a tiny smile emerged like a hesitant rainbow. This might be his best look. And it is my favorite moment in life. When you realize, Wow, this is bad. Really, really bad. But we’re still here. We’re gonna make it through. Not over or under or around, but through. And look, we’re even going to smile again.

Tish’s tears stopped, but her head remained resolutely in my lap. The five of us sat quietly for a little while, petting each other. Then we planned a proper send-off for Jacob in the backyard the following morning. We’d color some pictures for him and read a prayer and a poem or two. Then Chase ended our wake by dismissing himself to hold his guinea pig, Romeo. It was his wake to end.