Death arrives in yoga pants

We had a tragedy at our house yesterday.  I'm still torn up about it.  I made a stupid mistake—a thoughtless, absent-minded mistake—and the consequences were catastrophic. You see, yesterday I killed our fish.

I can't believe it happened.  I wish I could take it back.  I'm angry and sick and heartbroken about it and after it happened, I spent the rest of the day curled up in bed.

Now just to be clear, we're not talking about a couple of betas in bowls on a shelf.  These were pond fish, nearly forty of them, some more than five years old and as large as my hand.  Many had names—Buddy and Spot and Spot Jr and Brunhilde.  And this spring, our third generation had hatched.

The small fries appeared sometime in March, fourteen tiny gray specks that could only be discerned as movement from the corner of my eye.  With generous feeding, they grew into a gang of raucous juveniles that raced wildly between the water plants and threw themselves headlong into the strong current that appeared whenever I added water to the pond.

The early bloomers began to change color in June, turning light gold while the others maintained their protective gray hue.  It's a gradual change that begins at the belly and ends with one last swath of gray along the spine. I imagined that these were the ones that goldfish parents hoped their daughters never brought home. They were like punks at a Ramones concert, all mohawk and smeared eyeliner.

In July, the tadpoles showed up. Hundreds of them appeared overnight, hugging the perimeter of the pond like obsessive compulsive wallflowers.  I've read that the fish don't eat them because they don't taste good, so I guess everyone just tried to get along until the tadpoles grew up and moved out. 

There was a whole world inside that pond, full of wonder and beauty. And I'm crushed that I destroyed it simply by forgetting to turn the water off.  It feels like I've been watching the Nemo movie for five years, only to have all the characters die in the end.

I'm trying to forgive myself. But I think it may take a while.