Sunday, March 14, 2010

Big Things In Small Places


This is the next installment for my newspaper column. . .

My fish died recently. Rex was actually a hand-me-down fish from one of my children. This child begged for the fish at the pet store, and I caved, as I usually do, and bought it.

Plus the tank. And the food. And the gravel and life-like plastic water plants. Etc, etc.

Parents are gullible in pet stores and children know this instinctively. For some reason, adults suffer from selective amnesia once they pass through those automated sliding doors. We remember the thrill of being a kid wanting some little living thing to care for, and we forget the other animals we’ve previously bought for our children. The animals we fed and cleaned up after when their original owners lost interest. For, like a boomerang, the responsibility of ownership returns to us. See? Selective parental amnesia.

But I’m not complaining. Rex was beautiful in an iridescent red, purple, and gold way and we went through a lot together. His tank was stationed by the washing machine in the basement. Rex was my comrade in the laundry trenches, and we survived innumerable loads together. The whites and colors came and went, but that fish was a constant for me. He witnessed my muttering, my lame jokes, and verbal list making and didn’t jump from the tank to end his suffering on the carpet. Rex kept swimming, his elegance in tact.

Sometimes, we learn big things in small, unexpected places.

Rex had been ailing for some time. In fact, his drawn-out death scene would have done Hamlet proud. To borrow, and alter, that great line from Shakespeare, “Good night, sweet fish. And may the angels sing thee to thy rest.” Over the last eighteen months, I made countless trips to the pet store, discussing his condition with the fish experts and buying the latest fish-disease cure. I spent more on this one pet than I would have on a nice pair of open-toe sling-backs. (And I really love shoes!)

Despite my efforts, the inevitable happened, and when I found Rex lying on the bottom of his tank, I felt sad. It seemed fitting that it was just he and I at his funeral. No one else in the house paid much attention to him. It had been he and I since almost the beginning. I held Rex on my palm and looked at his still form. I said the first thing that came to mind. “You were a good fish. You did what you were supposed to do here. I’ll miss you.”

The leaving of this humble creature from the world was but a blip in my day’s occupations. Yet, Rex’s existence had value. His life was a success. When I die, I hope the same can be said of me. Because if we try to be good people, if we do what we are meant to do here, if people miss us when we’re gone, we will have left a meaningful legacy indeed.

All these deep thoughts inspired by a tiny fish. Who would have guessed so much could be learned in a laundry room full of dirty clothes? Yes, readers, you can find big things in small places.

26 comments:

  1. This is beautiful, elegant and exquisite in its simplicity. Thank you.

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  2. Poor Rex. Little things actually do make very big differences in our lives. It's often the little things that mean the most :)

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  3. Such a sweet story. I'm a firm believer that human-animal interaction fills some sacred void in our psyches. Laugh at me if you will. :)

    Thanks for sharing the column!

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  4. Roxy this is absolutely beautiful. I don't think I can tell just how much I loved reading this. It touched me. thank you :)

    My own little Rex died last week. I was sad too, some said he was just a fish, but he was a little more than that to me.

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  5. This is both funny and sweet. We ARE suckers in a pet store. Deep sigh for little Rex. He was a bright spot on your dirty laundry.

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  6. Awww. RIP little Rex.

    I have been there a million times, growing up with many parakeets and hamsters and gerbils (well, not many at the same time, but a long succession of birds and rodents).

    My own girls have had fish, a hamster, and various salamanders and things found outside, aside from our dog. Like yours, they seem to lose interest in taking care of them after a while, but still get sad when they die.

    There is a book called The Land of Crayons that has a line, "Even the smallest crayon leaves a mark." It's true, even for the smallest fish. This was a lovely tribute.

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  7. What a lovely post. My daughter has three betas that she cares for diligently (and guards from her cat!). Those little things do mean a lot.

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  8. R.I.P. Rex. We tend to learn a lot from animals if we take the time... Nice post.

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  9. Lovely post. He was very beautiful.

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  10. When little things touch us, I guess they're not so little. I wound up exclusively caring for my children's for two beta and I took it harder than I thought I would as one died, the other seemed near death, came back from the brink, and eventually died as well.

    This is a wonderful post, which I'm going to share with a blogger friend who just lost her cat.

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  11. Hi

    The lovely Theresa Milstein forwarded me the link to this fab post. What a great fish! And what an enduring relationship you've had with this small creature. All non-bipeds do pretty much what they're meant to do on this planet and are much missed because of that singular trait when they depart. They don't really ask for much - just to be left alone to be.

    Take care
    x

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  12. Great Post Roxy. My mother had a Rex once, for seven years he sat on the back of the toilet seat. He was a great fish. As was Rex.

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  13. Oh if Rex could only have known that people across the country would speak well of him, a simple fish. Beautiful!

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  14. Awww I used to have a beta fish like Rex! And I did that to my parents as well, only it was at the fair and it was a set of white bunnies :)

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  15. Awwwww...so very sweet. "You did what you were supposed to do here." Well said! And so applicable to our own lives. Love how you made that connection.

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  16. Poor Rex! I had a betta that looked just like him. His name was Mr. Darcy and as small of a blip as his death caused in my life, nevertheless it was still a blip and a little friend lost. R.I.P.

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  17. This is inspirational and humorous at the same time. Not humorous at all that he died (RIP... :( ) but I just LOVE your tone in the story. Wonderful piece; further proof that you sure can write!

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  18. So true! RIP Rex - brilliant piece.

    Thanks for the reminder in such a wonderful way.

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  19. It sounds like Rex led a full life. Was he a betta? Ours has outlived all our other fish now, and I've heard they can last five, six, even seven years! I'll feel sad when he goes, so I can relate to your article. Wonderfully written post, btw!

    ((hugs)) :)

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  20. I enjoyed your story about Rex so much...he reminds me of a fancy goldfish I once had - Gus. I really like how you wrote this - it captured everything! My condolences to you on the loss of Rex...

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  21. I'm sorry you lost your pet and laundry mate. Thanks for turning your loss into a thoughtful post.

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  22. Nice post. Thanks for sharing it. Rex sounded like a real charmer.

    Thanks also for stopping by my place and for the follow.

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  23. I really appreciate that you're sharing your column with us. It brings even more joy to my day when I settle in to travel the blogging circuit.

    I have something for you on my blog. Whoopie! :o)

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  24. Love this post. I, too, am the keeper of a fish--my son is a junior in college and I am in charge of keeping the fish alive. It is my sole duty in his eyes. So far, so good.

    Glad to have found your terrific blog and thanks for becoming a follower!

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  25. The small cars are very comfortable for me specially when i need to park in a small place, but i have another reason, they can go fast when there are traffic jump. I like to read about small cars. Actually i think in costarica it could be a great alternative, so would take advantage in costa rica investment opportunities

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