April 20, 2026 
by M. Regina Cram
It was a wake and funeral all in one, and I couldn’t stop laughing. Six-year-old Victoria solemnly led the funeral procession through our living room, carrying the powder blue ‘Jesus Loves Me’ cross high above her tiny frame. She was closely followed by 9-year-old Tierney, who carried a miniature casket. It was actually an old jewelry box that once housed gaudy earrings but had become a final resting place for her beloved goldfish, Goldie. The casket was adorned with festive pebbles, and the deceased fish was gently laid to rest across the top.
Last in the procession was twelve-year-old Meredith carrying a Bible and her carefully prepared notes for the funeral she’d planned to soothe her sister’s grief. Thirteen-year-old Skip sprawled out on the nearby sofa wearing his coolest sunglasses (to hide his weeping eyes, he announced with a smirk). Right.
I held myself together during the off-key rendition of ‘Amazing Grace’ but began to lose my grip when Meredith greeted the mourners.
“Good evening,” she intoned. “We are gathered to remember the fish, Gold Cram.” Sniff, sniff I thought I heard until a quick glance revealed Skip’s impish grin.
“Please join in prayer,” Meredith continued. “Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him.” “Amen,” we all chimed. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from giggling.
After another hymn, Tierney approached the pulpit. She read the Bible verse about how we need fear no calamity because we’ve placed our trust in One who is eternal. The problem was that when she got to the word ‘calamity,’ she pronounced it more like ‘calamari.’
Skip and I erupted in gales of laughter. “We’re burying a fish, and you’re talking about calamari!” I choked. Meredith shot us a dirty look.
After a few kind words about the brief life of Goldie the goldfish, the service ended with a closing hymn that was not a hymn at all, but rather a poem about a beetle named Alexander who lived in a match box until his nanny set him loose by mistake. The appropriateness was shaky at best but, seeing as this was a funeral for a fish, we let it slide.
As the service concluded, the casket was gently carried out, then unceremoniously dumped onto the kitchen counter, where it sat for two days. By that point Tierney’s tears had long since dried, as had the fish. When the third day dawned, rich with religious symbolism, I insisted that either Tierney bury her long-deceased friend, or else Gold Cram would become a permanent part of our compost heap.
And so it was that Goldie the goldfish found his final resting place amidst the pines, marked by a simple pebble cross and two banana peels.
Surely God smiled that day as pajama-clad children came to Him, mourning their tiny friend. To such as these belongs the kingdom of God.
M. Regina Cram is a published author and a parishioner of SS. Isidore and Maria Parish.
