Loosing a loved one is hard. That fragile connection is somehow gone and you are left to go on without that physical. We cling to our memories to sustain us and eventually those memories turn happy. We never truly get over loss but at some point it becomes part of us and is comfortable. This is true whether it is the loss of a person or a pet. Today I am saying goodbye to the latter.
I woke up this morning and started my daily routine, let the dogs out, fed the rabbit, fed the fish in the pond and finally went to feed my two goldfish in the house. While one of them was swimming around ready for the food, I noticed that Tokyo (the biggest gold fish) had taken an odd position by the pump. "Come on Big Guy" I called tapping the tank. He didn't move. I watched and realized that his gills weren't moving. I watched praying that I was wrong. I watched and watched and felt the tears stream down my face. Just like that, he was gone. I feel stupid saying all of this. It seems that a 48 year old man morning the lose of a gold fish is somehow immature. I have lost other fish before without missing a breath and flushed them down the toilet. Not so in this case. I have a history with this fish. He has been with me for around 9 or 10 years, but the feelings go well beyond the time.
Early in our relationship, Ken and I were living in a very cute little craftsman style house. Ken loving gardening turned the back yard into an oasis! It went from a half dead grass patch and a lump of 30' bamboo to our own Shangrala. We acquired unusual plants, more bamboos and at the center of the yard was a Koi Pond. (well in reality it was a black plastic pond liner from Home Depot, but after hard work it looked magnificent). Instead of running out and grabbing Koi, Ken suggested that we start off with feeder gold fish. There were a family of possums living on top of the garage and we didn't know if they were fishermen or not. So one sunny Saturday afternoon we headed to PetSmart and grabbed a bag of feeder fish and some food. An hour later they were swimming around in the pond. Our project was perfect. We would sit on the teak bench and watch the fish for hours. Like I had read about koi, the goldfish started following us. Swimming up to the sides and checking the status of feeding time. This went on most of that summer until one morning Ken yelled for me. Some predator had gotten into the pond and the fish were gone. We looked around in the pond checking hiding areas in the water but turning up no fish. The color orange caught my eye and I found a fish on the ground. He had been bitten and was missing a circle of scales right behind his gills. I went to pick him up and was planning on tossing his body when the most amazing thing happened. He jumped from my hand back into the pond. We bought another bag of feeder fish so that he would have company and eventually one survived to become Tokyo's buddy. It seemed only right to name him now that I felt some sort of connection to the little guy. Fish number two eventually took on the name Fluffy. (for the long fins, it made sense at the time). Eventually our house was put on the market and we had to move. Coming to the end of the move, Ken, much to my horror, suggested flushing the fish. "No!" I screamed. I just couldn't imagine being so heartless to an animal who had brightened our lives.
I had a large vase that become their new home and move by move our fish followed us to our home today. As Tokyo grew to fit each tank I kept buying larger and larger vases. In my mind he was the Godzilla of fish. I loved bragging at the pet store about how old he was. In reality fluffy is just a month younger, but Tokyo has always been the star of the tank and been given credit for the age. He has been there every day waiting to be fed. When I went into the hospital, I made sure over and over again that Ken not forget to feed him. Upon my return home from the hospital it was one of my great morning pleasures to feed him. After surgery I was so weak that picking up his food was about all I could manage. I would sit and watch him eat until all of his food was gone. I had been secretly hoping that he would live well into his 30's and beyond like Koi fish do. This was not the case. So thru my tears I said good bye today to one of the first survivors to ever come into my life. A little life that impacted mine in a big way.
Tokyo is a reminder that death is inevitable. But to me he is so much more that that. He has been living proof that you can go thru a near death experience and live a long life. In fish years he was 214! Not bad! With love (and I know a lot of people think I'm crazy for loving a fish) we can all live a long and happy life. That is Tokyo's legacy to me. Good bye old friend. (on a happy note, he must have known what a drama queen his dad was and went out with Elizabeth Taylor!)
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