Buh fell in love with a crawfish today. And then he experienced the first true loss and grief of his little five years when we decided to boil the little crustacean and his buddies. My husband has brought home crawfish several times, and the purpose is twofold: 1) fun for Buh for a few days, and then 2) sustenance – we eat them. However, this was the first time that Buh took a little shining toward one of the crawdads. It was the littlest one. He had his own little yellowish gray coloring too. Buh took Little Crawdaddy out of the washtub, put him in the passenger seat of his Fisher-price jeep and drove him around for a while. I even looked on Craigslist to see if someone had a cheap aquarium for sale so that we might keep him.
Considering that this isn’t the first time we’ve tried to keep crawfish alive for a while, I’ve actually googled how to do it and you need a fresh water aquarium and an aerator. Convinced that Buh’s new little friend wouldn’t survive (like three of his buddies who got thrown over the fence) we all decided that it would be best for him to be eaten. (You vegetarian moms have other battles, I’m sure. Although I’m glad he wasn’t moved by some cooked broccoli tonight).
When we sat down at the table to a gorgeous array of yellow corn, white potatoes, pinkish chicken and bright red crawdads, Buh began to cry – with true remorse, true sadness, true grief. He wanted him “back alive.”
And that’s how we want anyone we love after they die. It truly was such a practice for him. Generally, we aren’t considering eating someone or something we love after it dies, but this was unusual.
We’re going to try to replace Little Crawdaddy sometime soon, and Buh will get to experience that time heals and hopefully he’ll be able to draw on this experience sometime when he really needs it. It’s true. Time heals.