Bury your frog

A few months ago, our family bought two African dwarf frogs.  Fresh water dwelling, easy-to-care-for frogs.

We named the first one Susan… and our female frog is twice the size of the male frog, which is normal.

We named the second one “El Sapo,” which is Spanish for “the frog.”

Well, the other night, “El Sapo” floated to the bottom of the tank, lifeless.  We tried to revive him.  Susan tried to confront him.

She really did.

That’s right, our female frog sat beside her “once-living” friend and put her froggy arms around him.  It was surreal.  There’s a part of death where we experience the pain and emptiness of love that is lost.

Our kids grieved.  Allie, our 7-year-old, cried for what seemed like an eternity.

A few days later, we held a burial moment for “El Sapo” in the backyard.  It was our family’s way of saying goodbye and giving thanks for a good pet.  There’s a part of death where we need to be together, to acknowledge the realities, and to get some closure.

At some point, owning these frogs is a chance to teach skills for life, emotion, and grief to our kids in the context of faith, hope, and love.

So we buried our frog.

And in a few weeks, we’ll get another frog.  There’s a part of death where eventually, with the help of God and others, our wounded heart moves on and learns to open up and love all over again.