The Burial

As I consumed my morning pot of tea and perused my copy of the daily telegraph I suddenly noted the date. Instantly my half awake brain became completely overcome with poignant, childhood memories. You see it was an almost unbelievable thirty years ago on this very date that I had to bid goodbye to Sebastian…

It was a typically drab, overcast Yorkshire morning on that sad day. I can recall with vivid clarity crying my self to sleep the evening before and my mother whispering through her own tears that it would be okay, and that we must go on forth with our lives. She explained to me lovingly that is what Sebastian would have wanted. Despite her words I did not think it was ever going to be okay ever again, and I suspected that neither did she..

That morning, with blood shed eyes, I put on a black pair of trousers, a white shirt and my school tie, it was the only tie that I owned, and I wanted to look my very best. I was unable to eat breakfast that day. I sat at the kitchen table and glumly looked at my bowl of oatmeal, occasionally stirring it with my spoon. As I sat there in silence, I was reliving all those wondrous moments we had shared together.

My father tapped me on the shoulder and solemnly informed me that we needed to make a start.

So, there we were all huddled about. My three younger brothers and sister were also still in shock. We were all having trouble comprehending what was going on.

I am not, or have never been, much of a religious person. But on that day, as we listened to bible verse being read, the words resonated in my young mind.

It was then that my father looked at me, straight into my eyes.

“It is time.”

With that he flushed the toilet.

I am teary eyed as I type this. Sebastian, please understand, was the very best goldfish a young boy could have ever hoped for.

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