Another eulogy
Well, Ken's other fish....Jim....passed away yesterday morning. He was fine while I was busying about the house early yesterday morning....but when Ken got home for lunch, he frantically started spinning his aquarium...."Where's Jim!?" Suddenly, Ken became really still and quiet. He slowly pointed down to the bottom of the tank, next to the rocks. I peered inside to see Jim's flourescent orange tail sticking out of the filter.
What made Jim do it? Was he Catholic, and he felt that there was no reason to go on after the Pope's life journey had finally ended? Was he lonely and depressed ever since his beloved Jaws died back in January, and died of a broken heart? Was it weird aquarium bacteria? We'll never know.
A pet dying, fish or dog or cat (whatever), is incredibly hard to handle for many people...me being one of them. Thankfully, I had not emotionally bonded that much with Jim, and so his passing did not screech my life to a halt except for a few minutes. But I have had my share of pet-loss heartache, that can be vouched for.
Some of my favorite pets were killed tragically, usually by a vehicle of some sort. A couple of them died of an illness. One of my black and white cats, JB, was kidnapped (I'm convinced to this day that it was intentional). One of the dogs my dad had during my childhood died after eating a poisonous mushroom. These are all very hard to take, especially for a very tender-hearted seven- or eight-year-old (or fifteen-year-old....I never get over it!).
I remember many a funeral in our backyard for our beloved little friends. My dad pulls out the bagpipes and plays Amazing Grace. We stand around the little plot with rock patterns on the soil and a cross forged out of two sticks at the top...my sister and I clutching each other and wads of Kleenex. Mom stands silently to one side. Dad would have tenderly laid our little friend in a box (parakeets always got empty check boxes....perfect fit).
When my childhood fish, Skittles, died in 1993, we all stood around the toilet bowl for a burial at sea. Imagine a family of four PLUS a set of bagpipes in a tiny, tiled bathroom. Yet we did it to pay homage to that little slimy, scaly friend of ours....who'd been with us, amazingly, since 1988.
To most of you, this may seem silly. Yet to us, it helped us put it behind us, much as one has to when a human we are close to passes away. These little animals become buddies, friends, roadside companions. When I survey all of the animals in my life right now, it pains me to think that that day will come for them, as well. Yet I can rest assured that Dad will be there, too, pipes in arm....and we will always be left with warm, wonderful memories of those wet noses and tiny paws....those long walks or cuddly couch times.
Rest in peace, little Jim. May your unexhaustable, hyper spirit inspire us to live more energetic and colorful lives today. :0)
What made Jim do it? Was he Catholic, and he felt that there was no reason to go on after the Pope's life journey had finally ended? Was he lonely and depressed ever since his beloved Jaws died back in January, and died of a broken heart? Was it weird aquarium bacteria? We'll never know.
A pet dying, fish or dog or cat (whatever), is incredibly hard to handle for many people...me being one of them. Thankfully, I had not emotionally bonded that much with Jim, and so his passing did not screech my life to a halt except for a few minutes. But I have had my share of pet-loss heartache, that can be vouched for.
Some of my favorite pets were killed tragically, usually by a vehicle of some sort. A couple of them died of an illness. One of my black and white cats, JB, was kidnapped (I'm convinced to this day that it was intentional). One of the dogs my dad had during my childhood died after eating a poisonous mushroom. These are all very hard to take, especially for a very tender-hearted seven- or eight-year-old (or fifteen-year-old....I never get over it!).
I remember many a funeral in our backyard for our beloved little friends. My dad pulls out the bagpipes and plays Amazing Grace. We stand around the little plot with rock patterns on the soil and a cross forged out of two sticks at the top...my sister and I clutching each other and wads of Kleenex. Mom stands silently to one side. Dad would have tenderly laid our little friend in a box (parakeets always got empty check boxes....perfect fit).
When my childhood fish, Skittles, died in 1993, we all stood around the toilet bowl for a burial at sea. Imagine a family of four PLUS a set of bagpipes in a tiny, tiled bathroom. Yet we did it to pay homage to that little slimy, scaly friend of ours....who'd been with us, amazingly, since 1988.
To most of you, this may seem silly. Yet to us, it helped us put it behind us, much as one has to when a human we are close to passes away. These little animals become buddies, friends, roadside companions. When I survey all of the animals in my life right now, it pains me to think that that day will come for them, as well. Yet I can rest assured that Dad will be there, too, pipes in arm....and we will always be left with warm, wonderful memories of those wet noses and tiny paws....those long walks or cuddly couch times.
Rest in peace, little Jim. May your unexhaustable, hyper spirit inspire us to live more energetic and colorful lives today. :0)
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