Loss

The morning dawns a new day and a new bottle. I drink the liquid self-help that no doctor would prescribe praying for salvation. It doesn’t come. Maybe something stronger will help.

I take one look at the options before me and realize nothing will numb the pain. Will I have to live with it? Guess so. But at least I have that choice...God knows she never had that option.

I get control over the nausea and give myself a once over in the bathroom mirror. I adjust my tie and felt reaffirmed with the decision to wear my best suit. But if I didn’t leave now I’d be late for the service.

I take one last breath and exit the the bathroom. You’ve got to be kidding me. No one showed up to the service except family. Those bastards. All the lives she impacted and they decided they had somewhere better to be.

I see my dad approaching. I wonder how he’s taking this whole thing. “It’s about time you came out of there” he begins. “We’ve got to flush this goldfish it’s beginning to stink”.

“LIKE HELL YOU WILL!!” I shout. “She deserves better!”

My dad bites his bottom lip then exhales. “Look, this fish smells like anus, it’s got to get flushed.”

I brace my arm on the doorframe to block his access. “You’re a real piece of work Dad. A true insensitive soul” I declare. “It’s no wonder mom left.”

“What are you talking about?? She’s unloading the car!” He points to the window where I see mom bringing in everything we left in the van.

I brush off his explanation. “Dad do you remember when you won her for me? It was your last dollar and your last ring. You looked at me and I knew in that moment that you were going to win. And when you did, the whole world felt perfect.”

“Yeah I remember” he begins “it was last night.”

“Oh here we go...” I start as I roll my eyes.

“Then against my advice” he continues “you took it on the tilt-a-whorl and it was dead 7 minutes later. I told you, fish weren’t meant to spin at terminal velocity.”

“Dad let’s stop playing the blame game. You’re the one that didn’t buy any fish food.”

“He was dead in 7 minutes!! When the hell was I suppose to buy the food??”

“Let’s face it Dad. You wanted it that way. That’s why when the Carnival Service Representative asked if you wanted to buy an aquarium to go with your prize, you sharply said no.”

“Aquarium?? No, the CARNIE wanted me to buy a red plastic box with a label that read ‘sharps container’ that was ‘capable’ of holding water.”

“How do you explain the sand on the bottom of it?”

“I’m pretty sure it was from the public ash tray. It was all littered with half smoked Camel filters.”

“Enough Dad! Let’s get mom’s opinion. Let’s just see what she has to say about this.”

As mom enters the front door she turns her head and begins to cough. “It smells like anus in here” she asserts.

“Ok fine Dad. I’ll get her out of the house, but this is something I have to do myself. We’re going to Old Yeller this bastard. Get your shotgun and meet me out back.”

“What?!? No! It’s already dead!” he says “Let’s just flush it and this mistake will be over with in a few seconds.”

“Let’s at least give it a proper burial. Maybe under the old oak tree with the tire swing that we used to play on when we were kids?”

“That’s in Vermont!! We’re not driving to Vermont to bury this thing!” he yells.

“Fine” I say as I grab the bag from his hands. “I’ll bury her in the back yard.”

“Fine” he replies. “Do it behind the shed. And not on the side where the gutter runs off. After the first big rain we get, that damn thing will float back to the surface. Last thing I need is some half decomposed carnie fish floating around in my backyard. The HOA is already on my back for the 140 “Never Forget P-O-W” flags you erected the time your parakeet got out.”

“Yeah...Yeah” I reply as I walk out the door without looking at him.

As I packed down the final shovel of dirt I call the family out for a few final words. I catch my dad checking his watch, but I choose to ignore it and give him a pass.

“Thank you all for coming. I think it’s moments like these that we remember just how short life really is. It reminds us...” I stop short. “Dad, check that watch again and I swear to God there will be two burials here today.”

My dad rolls his eyes and pulls his sleeve over his watch.

“It reminds us that you must cherish every minute.”

“Yeah, especially when you only have seven of them” my dad mutters under his breath.

“I’m sorry, what was that?!?” I snap?

“I didn’t say anything” my dad replies.

I revert my gaze back to the earth and continue. “Even if life is short, we are reminded that the greatest things in life only take a moment. Saying I love you, a mother’s hug, or winning your son the prize he wants at the local carnival. And it is these moments that last a lifetime.”

My dad appears caught off guard, but then nods at me with pride and I nod back.

I return to my carefully prepared eulogy hoping my manipulative words will convince my dad to foot the bill for the custom gravestone. Although it’ll likely take some more convincing, as he was never very fond of the name.

“Good bye and may you Rest In Peace, Captain GoldFarts.”

**Ever lose something or someone as dear to you as this? Leave your story in the comments section and we'll mourn with you.