Dun. Dun. Dun. Another One Bites the Dust.
Sadly, this will be the last post in the Trilogy of the Fish. It started here when we were given two fish (Siggi and Devo) over the weekend. Next, things escalated quickly when Siggi really did go “swimming with the fishes.” Then, yesterday I got the following texts from my wife.
In the matter of just a few days, our kids had their first pets, their first experience with death and their first blasé response when confronted with death. Luckily (I think), we still have our loud, fat, missing-toothed bag of fur named Gilligan. He’s a 12ish-year-old cat and a cancer survivor. Yeah, he had a lumpectomy a few years ago. I’m pretty certain that Gilligan is immortal, so my kids can love on him for decades to come.
I got Gilligan when I was in college. He has lived in eight different residences, with two different college roommates, two different dogs, a cat, a wife and now two kids. During the day, the kids constantly want to yell at him, hug him, attempt to cut him with a toy knife (from a kitchen set), sit on him, cuddle with him, ski behind him while holding his tail and chase him. His tolerance for putting up with crap is low. Gilligan goes from I-love-you-I-love-you-pet-me-pet-me to I’m-gonna-punch-you-in-the-face in about six seconds flat.
Gilligan has been a great pet. He’s put up with a lot. He’s brought a lot of laughs. He gave me companionship during some of the biggest moments of my life. He was with me in my first apartment by myself after college. He was with me when I moved into my first house. Gilligan was around when I got married (not in person) and when our kids were born (again, not in person).
Gilligan has helped protect our home, as evidenced here:
There (might) be a day when Gilligan gets bored enough with this world and decides to move on. When he does, our son will certainly wonder where Gilligan has gone. Our kids weren’t around the fish enough to really care about them, but they have been around the fur bag for their entire lives, and over a third of my life.
Once that day comes, it will surely be sad, but I see a silver lining. It gives me a teaching moment to describe a real heaven where we will go one day. I can describe the scene that John writes about in Revelation, minus all the wrath, destruction and pre-tribulational theology. Rylan read the chapter in his kid’s Bible tonight about Revelation. He loves the part that says, “Jesus will return again soon.”
I used to have visions where I was standing at the end of a diving board. Below me was a huge black chasm. The visions made me fearful and filled with anxiety over life, afterlife and my purpose. But, something happened. Once I started growing in my faith, exploring the truth and seeking answers, the visions drifted away. I know where my future home will be. I have complete comfort and peace in knowing where I will be once my body fails me.
In order to prepare for that day, I suppose I should put some thought in what I want done with my body so we can document the instructions. Casket? Cremation? Or flush down the toilet like Devo and Siggi?