Just Keep Swimming Part One: An Absolutely True Story of a Fish out of Water

This is an absolutely true story of a fish out of water.

 There was a time when we had seven children in our home.  Two sisters, another five year old girl and a nine year old boy in our care, and our three forever children. To say the least, we were just barely able to keep our heads above water.

I was heading home from work on a particularly stressful day. As I was driving, I took my deep breaths, I said my prayers, and I reminded myself of Nemo and Dory..."just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming.".

Ironically, I walked in the door to see Brent's shell shocked face.  He told me the recently unfolding story of Olivia's unsuspecting goldfish. This goldfish was hijacked from it's tank which was located on the second floor of our home, in Olivia's bedroom. It was smuggled in the waistband of one of the little girl's pants, and carried down the stairs to the other end of the house. The little girl gave herself away by shying up next to the kitchen cupboard, clearly trying to stay off the radar with her hidden treasure.  Brent was expecting the usual hidden treasure, candy. He was obviously surprised when he didn't find candy, but instead, slimy sea life. In a moment of horror, he retrieved, but then quickly dropped, the goldfish to the ground. Olivia came running into the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about. In her frenzy, she stepped on the already traumatized fish. Brent took the goldfish back to it's tank, placed it in the water, and watched as it swam sideways for quite some time. No one expected the poor fishy to survive.

But, hours, days, months later, it was STILL swimming. Still swimming.

Many of my days, even still,  are spent trying to keep my head above water. When I think back over my day, my week, my month, I think of the fishy. I imagine it's surprise as it was snatched from it's warm and comfortable surroundings. I imagine it's confusion as it was stuffed in the waistband of someone's pants and taken on a long and bumpy journey. I can almost feel it's horror as a grown man retrieved it and promptly threw it to the ground. And the final blow, I feel the humiliation of it being stomped on by the person who loved it most. But then I see it in it's tank, gracefully swimming, day after day.  Not only surviving, but appearing to enjoy the swim.

This ten cent fishy gives me hope. If a ten cent fishy from the grocery store can keep swimming after being abducted, imprisoned, abused and humiliated, why not me? I can keep swimming because the fishy kept swimming.

Many months later, I lovingly cleaned out the fishbowl, gave him fresh water, he died, and I flushed him down the toilet.  But his inspiration has lived on.