Dead Things: Ode to my Dad

"The yellow fish is dead."

I announced this important news to the Newton family when I turned the light on the fish tank this morning. Death in my home is a shock to me. No one else seems very interested. Geoff tries to give me a kind glance, but I can tell his coffee has his attention.

I am particularly disheartened by the loss of the yellow one. He had looked quite sickly last week, but had lately roused and had even been seen eating. And now his whispery carcass delicately wound round the filter. There was no question that his soul had moved on.

I should not be surprised by the lack of family interest in the loss of this fish. After all it is I who will be forced to remove its sad little fins from the aquarium. I often wonder if the other fish miss their dear departed, or if he just registers as plant life. I've had plenty of opportunity to wonder about the thoughts of fish on death. You could call our aquarium "death row" by the number of fish that have been executed within its habitat. You will notice that the yellow fish does not have a name. We hoped this might give him sustenance.

The first fish loss was buried in the backyard with words said for his soul. This one will join the last ten in fertilizing the raspberry bushes by the front door. The circle of life.

I hate dead things.

It's been nine years now since I lost my Dad to cancer. I place him in the dead things category; he would understand. I held his hand and his heart as he left the world. And still I missed his departure. Where did he go? One moment he was there, and the next I was left with a shell. His heart quieted, and I realized I was holding onto a dead thing. My father was gone.

Strangely I was filled with a certain exhilaration. The same feeling I had when my children arrived from who knows where out of my body. Like I had sampled something raw and real and special. Death is intimate and individual and indescribable just like childbirth. Is this why we quake as we offer each other our condolences?

I thank hospice and my father's bravery for placing death in life so we could share this last experience together. Death is life. I wish we wouldn't all tip toe around it.

When someone comes into the world, we all move over to make room for this new life. When someone leaves the world, we all shift and try to fill in the hole that is left. It never fills. I miss my Dad.

Robert John Marek
May 31, 1944 - March 13, 2001