One fish Two fish

Today I need to get to the bottom of whatever it is that's killing our goldfish. First there were 2, Hannah and Hansom Creasom, they lived outside all summer in a flower pot I called a pond, with plants, no filter, no pump. They survived, thrived, even, it seems. Then I brought them in, to an aquarium in the kitchen so they wouldn't freeze. Then I got cocky and added 2 more goldfish. The white one who didn't even live long enough to be named was the first to go. I came down one morning and found it stuck to the filter, it was before I had coffee and it had been a rough night of no sleeping, so I ignored the tiny voice in my head that was blathering on about life lessons and saying goodbye, and threw the fish in the trash can. Did I think H wouldn't notice? Worse, she asked once where the fish was and then I saw her make a mental note not to ask again. Later I said to her:
"you know that white fish? It died. "
Silence. "Can I see it?"
"I already buried it"(what the hell is wrong with me?)
"What if its hungry?"
"You don't eat when you're dead. But the fish is in a good place now with its friends. Its soul is rested..."
Oh oh oh. Downward spiral. Sinking feet weighted with concrete. So not what I wanted to say. Failing miserably. Shocked by how horribly I'm handling this. I at least stop before I say "next time I'll let you bury the fish with me"
And now, dead fish number 2. Again I throw the fish in the trash. This time, the voice in my head takes control of my subconscious and I put it in a bag inside and empty container of ricotta. (Yes, I should have recycled it. I suck.) Anyway. Later I'm on the phone with my mother who scolds me for throwing away the second fish. She blast my denial by reminding me "Someday one of your big pets in going to die and that's going to be REALLY hard". So, I went out to go through the trash. Found the fish, and put it in the freezer. H has already asked about Aria- once. I have been trying to find the right time to break the news. I am such a wuss. Aria died on Day of the Dead. You would think having grown up in Mexico City I would not be as squeamish about dead as I apparently am. I am going to make an offering for Aria. We will bury the fish, with enough food. And some marigolds.