Ode to Bob

It's been a hard few days at our house. Our beloved friend, Bob, has passed away. We are all so saddened by this loss, and during his brief eulogy there were many tears shed by all.

Let's now take a moment of silence in honor of Bob.

::Silence, in which there is the faint sound of angels singing and birds chirping::

Let me tell you a little about Bob.

He came into our lives purely by accident. See, John had decided that he wanted a fish in his office at work. So after a trip to SmartPets, he was the proud owner of a pretty Beta fish. After a few days, and John's enjoyment of the fish at work, he declared that I should have one at my office too. However, since I wasn't there as much as I had been, thanks to school, I didn't know that the little guy would survive. Besides, I thought it cruel to feed him on Friday, and let him starve until Monday. So John talked me into getting a fish for my office that would live at home. He would clean the tank, and feed him and love him and call him...George (name that cartoon!).

So George came home. Everyone was happy. Except the longer that George was with us, we realized that he was...special. And I'm not talking about having a super cool talent, or a neat trick, or that he could swim faster than the speed of a speed boat. No, George was...well, there's no easy way to say this. George, was a dork fish. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, not the brightest crayon in the box, a few fries short of a happy meal. I'm sure you get the idea.

George preferred to...well bottom feed. He liked to float around and watch his fishy dinner flakes float gracefully through the clear water, and land on the beautiful neon gravel at the bottom of his tank. Then later, when he was hungry, he would turn himself in a fish with an incredible amount of buoyancy, and...bob for food. So, it was apparent that George had been misnamed, and well, from that day forward, he became Bob.

You should have known this was coming.

Bob the Magnificent

 Amazingly so, Bob had been a part of our family for the better part of 2ish years.


We had Bob, sitting on this self for about 5 weeks, when the dog, finally discovered something was up there.

Friend or Snack?

Bob, like I mentioned before was...special. He was fondly referred to as a dork fish. Bob's not only speciality was bottom feeding, but Bob, had an imaginary friend. I was doing some laundry one day, and walked by Bob's tank, and as Beta's are prone to do, he was "fighting". Fighting is actually good for a Beta, because it helps to keep their colors bright and the fish in good health. So it's often a good idea to have 2, and place their tanks close together and allow them to fight for a few hours a week to keep them healthy. We would place a shiny pan or a mirror up so Bob would have this opportunity.

Love at first bite, err sight.

Well one afternoon, I was changing out the laundry, and Bob suddenly woke up from his mid-afternoon slumber and starting fighting with...nothing. The cabinet was empty, the dishes put away, and Bob was just going to town. About that time, John called, and I told him, as a joke that Bob, had an imaginary friend. Thanks to the question of what was his name (John should know that I can think on my feet) Stan, the imaginary friend, was born.

The first part of September (yes, I know I'm a month late), we came home to discover that some time between the time I went to bed the night before and that afternoon, Bob had taken his final swim. We knew that the time was coming, and frankly, because John had gone through 4 fish at work (2 of which I'm quite sure committed suicide because his office was so cold) that we knew that Bob wasn't going to be around forever, and frankly, we were surprised he had made it this long. Yet, amazingly so we were saddened by the loss of our finned friend.

I hadn't really planned on getting another fish, with school, work, homework, Scentsy, blogging, and trying to have a life that didn't revolve around school and homework, it wasn't a high priority. But John and I talked each other into it. So off to SmartPet's we went.

Meet...Stan.

Stan, the imaginary friend.

 



Yes, I'm aware that they make hospitals with padded walls for people just like me.

I think that we should rename him to Speedy Gonzales (name that cartoon!) because the fish never, ever stops moving. This was the best picture I got, because he wouldn't be still long enough for me to take it.

Faster than a speeding speed boat.

 

He's a pretty blueish greenish color. With a hint of purple. He's constantly moving, and he always fights. Me, a pan, air. Doesn't matter. I'll be surprised if he doesn't have a heart attack between now and Christmas. However, at first I was leery that Stan was his name. So I've patiently been waiting for his personality to come out, and I've discovered that Stan's name is actually very fitting. See, I had often though that the imaginary Stan often pissed off Bob. Bob would swim around in circles looking pissed off, like Stan had ran over, tapped him on the shoulder, woke him up from the best nap ever and ran off. Stan fits, because he is never still. He is always darting about in his small tank. I'm not sure he sleeps. Of course I don't stand by the take 24 hours a day, but surely at some point he does. Bob slept. I'm quite sure that Bob was a college student. He woke only to eat and when someone pissed him off. Usually me, flicking the tank with my fingernail wondering if he was dead. Or Stan. Apparently Stan was a rowdy 2 year old on a sugar high.

Goodbye Bob. I hope you enjoyed your beautiful sendoff. I hope that Le toilet and the sewage system processional was the exact type of sendoff you were hoping for.

 

Saying Goodbye

This year has already been an eventful year for our family. We had hoped that this year wouldn't hold as much sorrow as last year had. With the loss of both of John's grandparents 2011 was a year we were ready to move away from, and hopefully towards a brighter 2012.

Apparently God had other plans. In fact, here lately I here laughter in my head when I start making plans for the future. Deep, belly laughs. The kind that involve tears streaming down the face, gasping for air, and a slight trickle down your leg. Not that I would know anything about the trickle. But still laughter.

This past week has been the first time that my own mortality has been so deeply affected. John's cousin's wife took her own life on Tuesday. She would have been 32 on February 25th, 4 days before John's birthday.

32. She was my age. She was also a police officer, and let's face it, we often think about police officers as being tough, impenetrable, unbreakable. It was hard to watch her husband grieve openly. He didn't try to hide his emotions when they overwhelmed him. He just grieved. It was beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time.

Last week, a few days after we learned of her death, I was headed to school. Thinking about her husband and son that she left behind and thinking about how angry I was that everyone was blaming her for being selfish for taking her own life. That she never thought about her husband or son, when in fact, I know without a doubt that they were all that she was thinking about.

See, I think that suicide isn't a selfish act, but a selfless. Granted the people that are left behind are deeply hurt, they want to understand but can't. They have questions that will never be answered. But I have no doubt in my mind, that as she ended her own life, that she thought that she was leaving their world a better place.

I've never contemplated ending my own life. But I have contemplated walking out of my life. There were months when we stopped infertility treatments that I just simply wanted to walk away from my husband and my family. I stayed up at night thinking about how easy it would be to pack my stuff leave a little note on the table by the door and leave. His life would have been so much better without me in it, without me not being able to give him a child of his own. Or so I thought. Thankfully, I didn't do it. But in the midst of all of that, I never not once, thought about how that would let me off the hook. It was about how much better it would have been for everyone else.

But, no matter what, no matter how much this has sucked, there have been a handful of beautiful moments this past week.

See today, was also Papa's birthday. So this week was already going to be difficult enough. I had dreaded today for his birthday, and then for D's funeral.

I'm going to skip around here, not to confuse, but simply because it will end better this way. Trust me.

Today at D's funeral, and also at her wedding, was the song that helped John and I both survive some hard days and moments after Papa's death. The irony of that was, that the song was also played at D's wedding to John's cousin.A wedding that for some unknown reason, John and I didn't attend. Go here to listen to the song before you keep reading.  I Can Only Imagine by MercyMe.

The moment the beginning notes of the music began, my stomach dropped. I love that song, but like I said, it has some other meanings to us both. I knew John was thinking the same thing I was, as his hand gripped mine. Yet, as the second verse began I realized that the following story, made so much more sense and gave me the peace that I needed to make it through today, through Papa's birthday and now D's funeral with some form of comfort.

See, last week, I'm not sure what I was doing, or were I was going, because just as suddenly as the image popped into my head, it was gone almost as quickly.

It's like I was watching a TV, or a play. Except, I knew those voices, and those people sitting at the table.

There was this gorgeous table sitting in this room with all these chairs around it. The table had a nice shine to it, and some nicks from thousands of plates and meals eaten at that table. Pictures had been colored there, bread kneaded, it was a well used, well loved table. Around this table I see John's MeMa sitting there talking with her son, Papa, and B (D's husband's sister). They are laughing about something. It must have been incredibly funny, because they are all laughing, one of those gut wrenching, leaves you gasping for breath and the slightest gasp for a neighbor has you laughing even harder. Slightly behind them, almost as if she has walked into the room in the middle of a moment that she shouldn't have interrupted stands D, looking very unsure about what she is doing there and like she is in the wrong place at the wrong moment. The laughter dies down, Papa turns and looks over his shoulder and see's her standing there, so unsure of herself. He stands up and smiles at her and stretches his arms out and says "I've been waiting for you." As she walks into his arms. She knows, just like I do that she is exactly where she is supposed to be.

That they are both exactly where they should be.

Endings

Beginnings and Endings

This week I have been profoundly reminded of endings. You see, my great Uncle Jack’s life ended on Sunday. While we were all surprised, it shouldn’t have been that much of a shock, as he was 86 years old.

I’ve wanted to vocalize something for days; I just haven’t known what to say. I open word to type out my post, and the words just roll around in my head and they can’t seem to find their way to paper, at least in a cohesive way.

As I was returning home from the store late Sunday night, it dawned on me why losing family, or friends is so heartbreaking. Not only are they gone from your life, birthday parties, and holidays they also take a part of you with them.

My grandfather called me weediewart. It was my nickname that he had given me, probably from before I can remember, because I remember being referred by it often. No one calls me that anymore, which on one hand is a good thing, but on the other, it’s something I miss. And to Jack, I wasn’t Abby I was Abb. He left the last letter off my name, and always had. Even when he married us, he called me Abb. And Sunday night I realized that I would never be Abb again. My Aunt Nita calls me by my full name, unless she was joking with me about Jack’s unique nickname. And even if my entire family took to calling me Abb, it wouldn’t be the same. Then the thought came to me that Jack had taken Abb with him, just like my grandfather took weediewart.

Maybe that’s why death and funerals leave such a gaping hole in your life. You just aren’t losing the person, but you are losing a part of you too. I won’t just miss the Abb reference, I’ll miss a lot more, but the thing I know I’ll miss the most. My name.

I was also reminded this week that life is unpredictable. Here today, gone tomorrow. My grandfather hated funerals. He always swore that dying caused a burden to those still living. Maybe he was on to something. This week I often find my mind wandering back to birthday parties and holidays, and to my wedding and to my Aunt. I look over at my husband at night while he sucks the shingles through the ceiling sleeps peacefully and wonder what I would do, if suddenly he were gone. I can’t even begin to imagine. I remember how terrified I was when he a bad wreck a few years ago, and that was just worry over his injuries. I can’t even begin to imagine how my mom felt when my father had a heart attack last year. I hope that I never have to find out. I can’t imagine how quiet our house would be, and the knowledge that it would be like that from here on out. I can understand why so many widows and widowers remarry and even take their own lives. Silence is deafening.

So this Friday I’ll have “date night” with my family instead of just my husband. And instead of dinner and a movie, we will laugh, cry, and celebrate the life of my great Uncle Jack. I can’t think of a better date, or anywhere else I would rather be.

~The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. ~Mark Twain

~The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity. ~Seneca

~We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love. ~Madame de Stael

~Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality. ~Emily Dickinson