The Year My Fish Died: A Lesson in Change, Survival, and Thriving

About a year ago, over half of my fish died.

It wasn’t just fish—it was loss layered on top of loss.

I had inherited beautiful Oriental Koi and a growing school of Tilapia from my aunt, who passed away in 2020. These fish were more than pets; they were a piece of her legacy.

At the time, there were about 20 Tilapia, all different ages and sizes, and those 10 stunning Koi that my aunt had lovingly cared for. I had plans.

I planned to sell some of the Tilapia because I was struggling to maintain the fish.
But I was determined.

Determined to keep them well.

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I remember that morning so vividly.

I walked outside, fish food in hand, ready to greet them like I did every day.

What I saw sent a sharp wave of panic through my body.

The Tilapia.

Floating on the water’s surface, lifeless and bobbing along with the current.

I screamed for my husband.

In shock, I turned toward the Koi tank—my heart stopped.

Some of the Koi were gone, too.

I cried uncontrollably as my husband removed their delicate bodies from the water.

We worked quickly to cycle the tanks, treat the water, and save what remained. We prayed.

We made declarations.

I bought new equipment and did everything humanly possible to fix it.

But it was too late for some of them.

Most of the older Tilapia were lost.

All but one of the Koi died—the largest, oldest one.

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For days, I was overwhelmed with grief.

I felt as though I had failed my aunt.

Her memory had lived on in those fish, and now I had let them die.

I felt powerless.

Weeks later, while in prayer, God revealed something to me.

He used that moment to teach me a profound lesson:

Environment matters.

Sometimes, even the best intentions, the hardest work, and the purest love cannot overcome a failed environment.

The filters had failed due to a power fluctuation.

The water that was once life-giving had become a death trap.

And as I mourned the loss of the fish, God opened my eyes to a truth about life:

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As seasons change, we must be willing to adapt.

The older Tilapia couldn’t survive in the rapidly changing environment.
Not because they were “bad,” but because they were not built to shift and thrive under new conditions.

And yet…

There was the grandfather Koi.

That old fish, the largest and most mature, not only survived—
It thrived.

It didn’t cling to the past.
It didn’t fight the changes.
It adapted.

God whispered to me that it’s not that “old” is bad.

It’s just that holding on to old methods, old regimes, and an unwillingness to grow can make survival impossible in new seasons.

Sometimes, we have to let go of what no longer works.

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2024 was a year of exposure.

Some leaders stepped down.
Some were removed.
Some people lost loved ones.

And for many, the year felt like being thrown into a harsh, unfiltered environment.

But 2024 was also a year of introspection.

It was a year of recognizing the areas in our lives where we were merely existing—floating along, disconnected, and lifeless—when God was calling us to live.

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As I write this today, a full year later, I finally understand the weight of that moment.

The loss of the fish brought back the loss of my aunt.
It reminded me of my grief, my questions, and the things I couldn’t understand.

But it also brought me clarity.

If you’re reading this, you have a choice.

You don’t have to just exist and float through 2025.

You don’t have to be paralyzed by a harsh environment or cling to what used to work.

You can make the choice to live.

To grow.
To adapt.
To thrive.

Like the grandfather Koi, you can endure the seasons of exposure and come out stronger.

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As you step into 2025, I want to remind you:

The environment you place yourself in matters.
The people you surround yourself with matter.
The habits you hold on to matter.

Some things won’t survive the changing waters.

But you—you have the choice to live.

Be determined to thrive.

Because in the end, survival isn’t about staying the same.

It’s about being willing to change, to grow, and to trust God through the process.

And in that trust, you’ll find life.

Be like the grandfather Koi.

Thrive.

Bloom in solitude. 🌸