Farewell to a Fish

He was a good fish.

He was my second fish.

His name was Franklin Numero Dos. (because Franklin the first only lasted 3 days)

He was my fish for 3 years.

And last week he swam no more.

He was a resilient fish. Many a day I forgot to feed him. Many a day I did not tell him hello. Many a day he went on swimming in his coffee pot home assuming I'd check in with him sooner than later and enjoying his colorful rock floor home.

He had personality. Yes. My fish had personality. (just ask those that doubted me and then came to agreement with the fact.)

He was interested in what was happening outside his coffee pot world. He liked to have sleepovers with friends when I went out of town.

And on my last trip out of town, I opted to leave him in the care of the roommates, who were not used to this and (very apologetically) forgot to feed him.

He could go a few days on no food, but a full week made him meet his limit.

Arriving home to swim no more Franklin hit me a little harder than anticipated.

When I left I said, "if he dies, it's ok, he's just a fish." As I said every time I left him with someone. And it is ok.

But apparently, to me, he was more than just a fish.

He was the most consistent thing in my life in the past 3 years.

I got him as part of my list of 28 things to do before turning 29...well, he was the replacement for the fish that I got to accomplish the task of getting a pet.

He has lived in 3 homes with me (surviving two moves). One family of 4 and 4 roommates got to know Franklin as a delightful household friend.

In the time of having Franklin, I have had 5 jobs and one slight season of unemployment.  I bought a new to me car with cash, tried internet dating (ugh), attempted to buy a house, welcomed a new niece to the world, bought a bike, ran three half marathons (and many more miles in between), traveled to places both familiar and new, married off beloved single girls, had adventures and mishaps all the same...

Some crazy terrible and wonderful life events have happened that he got to hear about in our morning chats. (He was a good listener)

And when I saw him swimming no more, late last Friday after returning home from a fantastic week of building houses, I shed a few tears that I didn't know I would shed over a fish.

I have never really understood the attachment of people to their pets and animals or how upset they are when they die, but now I do.

They become your friend. A little comfort in an uncomfortable world.

Some consistency in a world of what if and maybe and perhaps.

I will miss my fishy friend.

And perhaps I will get another.

But I doubt that any fish will be as meaningful to me as Franklin Numero Dos, the French Roast Fish, who saw me through one of the most transitional and up in the air seasons of my life.

Swim in peace my friend, Franklin.

You were a good fish.