A Memoriam: Discussions with a Friend Named Denver

Denver died.


For months I've noticed that there was something "off" with him. But I ignored it.
I noticed his fins getting frayed and small and I ignored it.
His sapphire scales were turning into a dull gray and I ignored it.

It wasn't until he stopped eating his food that I began to stop ignoring him.
It's because I'm selfish and self-serving. Because feeding Denver was my activity and at the time my activity wasn't being achieved because Denver wouldn't eat anything.

Then one day Denver couldn't swim anymore. He just floated with his head looking at the tank lid which was the only real sky he ever knew. His gills were taking slow, big gulps of chemically cleaned water. His small side fins were doing their best to keep him afloat and not falling on the rough stones below him.

I left for only a few hours, I swear. But when I came home, Denver wasn't.
His dead fish eyes were probably the worst part because they were nothing like his eyes.
The horrible thing about it all was that those eyes made him look like just another plane, dead fish. Not Denver, not my friend.

We made a blog together and through the discussions we came to many understandings about life. Denver and I went through transformations together from fish, to friend, to symbol.
I mean that in the most passionate and sincere way possible: Denver became a symbol.

Back in the past postings whenever I talked about Denver I wasn't talking about the blue Betta fish sitting on my dresser. I was talking about myself, my friends, my husband, my family, the schizophrenic lady that came into the shop.

Denver landmarked important pieces of my life and he let me express those. So what does this mean now if he is such a beacon of symbolism?
Why did the universe think that I no longer needed Denver?

What passed away into fish heaven with the little guy?

The husband and I couldn't bare to flush him down some septic bowl. We drove around for about thirty minutes trying to find a send off point. We found a river in a park that was large and beautiful and black as night. I dumped the whole tank in there with him. His plants, the water, the pebbles. It was so dark I couldn't see where any of it went and I'm okay with that.

I said a few words, turned around and went home.



It had nothing to do with if I needed Denver anymore.
And I might start up another blog.
But that still doesn't mean I'll be getting another Betta fish soon.

I loved Denver, the discussions I had with my fish.

See you,

A&D