before I blog about Washington Square Park, and before I write about the movie Passionada, and before I write about all the other things that have been going on the past few weeks, I need to jot down something that happened last night right after we saw fireworks in Freetown, Massachusetts.

KC had got this great multi-environment bug and fish holder for his birthday at a party we'd just gone to earlier in the day, so his Aunt Donna gave him two fish from her own aquarium to put inside it. They were cute little fish, white and orange little guys. It was pretty late as we drove home, and KC must have fallen asleep, as there was suddenly this loud thud. I lowered down the music and said "is everything ok?" thinking somebody had fallen off their seat. KC's voice, which went right to my heart, piped up "Oh no. OH NO. Mom. Help."

The plastic container had fallen upside down, the water had drained out the holes, and there the fish were inside the empty plastic area, flopping around for their lives. I shouted out "look for the spring water bottles in case there's any left in them!" and stepped on the gas to get to our exit (we had just passed by exit seven and our exit was next.) KC's voice piped up again, this time with the sound of sadness so deep it made my eyes water. I knew what he was seeing, two fish with no water, and no way to save them. "Mom," he said, and then whatever he was going to say next got caught in his throat. Kenny was looking around for any water in any containers at all. "Didn't one of the kids leave a half empty water bottle in here yesterday? Check the back!" I asked as exit 8 came into view. My hands felt hot on the steering wheel.

KC couldn't move, his grief was so powerfully strong. Kenny gave up looking for water when it became obvious there was none in the van. A sense of sadness, thick with death, took over the entire van, but I kept driving, speeding up even a bit, because at this point the past 2 weeks had been such a weird set of circumstances and incidents, such as this one, that I could not accept another thing going so wrong. I felt like I was literally drowning in the pain and sadness KC felt, but I couldn't seem to resolve myself to just giving up, even though it seemed so impossible to do anything and even though it was just two little fish we could so easily buy the next day for thirty cents each at a pet store. I'd had enough sad moments like this over the past few weeks, and to see KC having one so personal himself, it would have taken an atomic bomb to demolish my determination to, at the very least, try with all my might to make it better, different, and not heartbreaking for him.

As we pulled up to a friend's house, about a block away from our house, I ran up to the door and knocked, knowing how late it was but just unwilling to give up, even if it meant being extremely impolite with a late night logic-less dead-fish visit. "Fuck this sadness," I thought inside my head, even though I knew all the hope in the world can sometimes be so futile. I turned the doorknob and, thankfully, although nobody answered the door, it had been left unlocked.

I ran back to the van, Kenny handed me the small, plastic fish tank with the two motionless, mouth-agape fish in it. As I ran towards the stairs to the house, I looked for any signs of life, as the tank shook with my Olympic running. Nothing moved at all inside the clear plastic enclosure, and my heart sunk as my mind told me to stop being so irrational as to think anything could be done at this point. My heart listened, but some other part of me, some part of me that apparently is bigger and more in control than my mind and heart put together, yelled very loudly "DO NOT GIVE UP." My hands were shaking, as were my legs, at the intensity of this part of myself that I have never quite understood.

I ran in the dark, inside the house, towards the area I knew the sink was. Once I felt the cold steel of the sink, my arms flailed around looking with only my hands and sense of touch for the faucet. I guided the tank opening under it, and just put the water on. As the container got heavy enough with the weight of the water, I shut the water off. I couldn't see anything, there are no street lights on this small block I'm at, and only forest is behind this home that the kitchen window faces. As I walked towards the dim light of the door now in front of me, I fully expected to see two floating dead fish to finish this night off, to cement the past few weeks as the most brutal and disheartening few weeks this family has ever experienced. A two week period that began the day after we got home from New York... two weeks of just unbelievable situations happening one after the other. Some of them great things (Kenny got promoted again, which was great) but the majority of the things... not so great, but things we semi-expected. Two dead fish is what I fully expected to see, and my logic told me to be prepared to just accept it. I'd done everything I could possibly do.

But there they were... swimming around. Literally as if nothing had happened. They weren't gasping in gulps of water, they weren't racing around the tank in fear, they were calmly and casually just gently gliding through the clear water as if they just woke up from a nice midsummer fish nap.

I couldn't believe it. My hands were shaking, and my eyes were burning to cry, but instead, I just opened the door and gave a thumbs up to Kenny and then to KC. They didn't seem to believe me, or perhaps they thought I was just being overly-hopeful to the point I was imagining the fish were alive (which I thought I might be by the looks on their faces), but as I got to the van door and they could see the fish so alive and merry... all the doubt faded. Kenny looked shocked. KC looked at the fish in total disbelief. I stood there not even knowing what to make of what had just happened, I couldn't even speak.

It was in silence that we drove the block to our home. As we walked into the house, I said to KC: "Ok. Here's the thing... those fish looked dead. All hope seemed lost. But remember this night, buddy, no matter what happens in your life, no matter how messed up things may go at times, remember these fish and remember to never give up. Never give up. Just keep going. Just do whatever it takes, even when you are quite sure you can't do anything to change things."

"Yeh. I know," KC said, as he stared at the fish in the light of our kitchen area, baffled and amazed at the fantastic turn of events. "Wow. They were just dead."

I sat in my computer chair and felt like I'd just collapsed. As I watched KC walk towards his bedroom to hit bed, I knew that what has just happened had made a strong impact on him, a positive impact, and I knew that he'd think of it during any moments in his life when he feels like life is overwhelming. "Goodnight, mom," he said, as he looked back at me with eyes that seemed to say "How'd you do that?"

So, I researched online before writing this blog, and others have had fish out of water for the same duration of time come back to life:
http://www.straightdope.com/mailbag/mfishbreath.html

It wasn't mom-magic or some bizarre occurrence... fish can live out of water for much longer than humans could without oxygen. I didn't want KC (and Kenny) looking at me the way they were, or thinking that somehow I'm capable of mystical healing or some crap. They'd both been acting strange around me today, as if I had freaked them out a bit by bringing the fish back to life by just willing it to happen. Now they both know... fish are just capable of surviving.

Anyways... that's my blog for today. I hope to do more writing this week, just waiting for things to be calm inside my head before I sit down for a while to type. Might get up early one morning to just have the house quiet, with everyone sleeping, and spend some time jotting down some of the happier moments that happened in the midst of the harder moments.

And for Mark, my bestest buddy, some more poetry by Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings:

Not enough water, and then, too much
too much again, back to not enough
The weeks have been dry with wet

I'm shaking off the dampness
and quenching all my thirst
Panic, don't... just 'let'

The days have been so set
yet
this and that, you know
how it gets