Life, Death, and Yellow Perch

One of my earliest memories is the death of my grandfather. My mom walked into my kindergarten class, her face wore so many more masks than usual. I heard her tell my teacher that I had to leave because my grandfather passed away. This was such a confusing time in my life. My parents were newly divorced and living in separate homes and I was trying to navigate the confusion and pain left behind after I was sexually assaulted earlier that year by a friend of the family. I was emotionally numb, the tears had long run out onto my pillows and trusty stuffed animals that kept me company during sleepless nights. I wasn’t close to my grandfather, the only memory that remained was the feeling of his stubbled cheeks as he hugged me when we arrived at their home in Westbrook Maine. I am sometimes paused by the smell of sawdust soaked with machine oil. They smelled of his old brown steel toe shoes that sat in the garage where he would change into house slippers after work. My brother, being 6 years older, was much closer to him. They went on fishing trips and to that old green cabin I barely remember in the woods. I felt like a casual passenger to all the emotions swimming around at my grandparents house that evening. The adults softly chatting at the kitchen table a full amber glass ashtray in the middle. My grandparents room had two beds and there was still a heavy antiseptic aroma left by the hospice apparatuses pushed to the corner. My brother sat alone on the couch, he hadn’t really stopped crying since I got home from school and all through the two hour drive. He had an old knife in his hand that he kept opening and closing over and over again while staring at the carpet. I noticed his fingers were red as he had a deep cut on his thumb. I don’t remember anything after that, no funeral, no visits to the grave site. I am sure we had gone but so much from that era is just blank with a few little events sprinkled around rattling in my brain. I remember sitting on the shore of my favorite pond in Gardner, weeping uncontrollably with a fish in between my feet. It was a yellow perch I had caught moments ago. It had swallowed my worm baited hook, enlodged beyond the gills. I tried to reach in with a pair of forceps my dad had on his fishing vest my mom had made but I couldn’t reach the hook. Blood had started coming through the gills onto my hands covering my fingers. I thought of my brother's sadness, I looked at my dads vest and remembered my mom gifting it to my father for Christmas, that stubbled hug from my grandfather and finally that event in the attic that I kept secret until I was 23 years old. I broke at the shore of that pond. Strangers tried to help and looked around for my father who was jogging from the snack bar with a hot dog for me, a dead yellow perch between my feet, my line still coming from its mouth. I looked at my father and he looked at me knowing all the pain that was simmering behind my eyes. He picked up the fish and washed it off in the water and put it in the waterproof pocket of his vest. When we got home we talked a lot about death, Mr. Rogers had introduced to me the idea of loss but what about when you caused the death. He started a fire in the wood stove and brought me my blanket and tear stained pillow and went to the kitchen. I fell asleep on the floor with my childhood dog and awoke to the smell of dinner. My mom came in with a plate, it took me aback as she had moved to her new apartment about a half mile away. On the plate was the smallest fish filet along with rice and veggies. My dad came in and we all talked about life, death and the journey we all share with nature. That the perch’s life was not wasted. Since those times both of my parents remarried to amazing partners, I have lost all of my grandparents, my parents have turned into grandparents and I lost my Brother over 20 years ago. We may not honor life the same way but those that we have lost feed our present. I wouldn't be the father I am today if I hadn’t witnessed my brother be one first. I find myself thinking about all these memories because my mom has started losing so many of hers, and I feel like I need to reinforce them in my mind to assure that they will feed my own small family as they navigate their own lives.