I Wish I Had a Fish That Died

Several years ago a guest musician performed at my church. In the program, it said he was performing a song he’d written for his late wife. Although it’s been five or six years since I’ve heard him, I still remember the title of the song: “Marilyn’s Garden.” I watched his face as he played the guitar; his eyes had a faraway look and he appeared to be in a world of his own—or perhaps in a world of their own. I remember thinking at the time how wonderful it would be to have someone love me the way he loved her—enough to write a song for me—and perform it in public. And then I had a reality check. She had to die to have a song written for her.

She was dead—and I was alive.

Fast forward a couple of years. My grandson, who was about 6 at the time, told Karsten, his 4 ½ year old buddy that his goldfish had died. Next to my grandson, Karsten is probably the cutest little boy—ever. He has piercing blue eyes, a mop of brown hair, and a sprinkle of freckles on his nose. For such a young boy, he seems much older—he has an old soul I suspect. When Alex told him about the demise of his fish, Karsten replied, “Oooooh, that’s so sad. I wish I had a fish that died.

I’m not a mind reader, but I think he probably meant he wished he had a live fish.

That brings us to now. For the past few months I’ve been “keeping company” with a man whose wife died several years ago. They were social friends of mine. He talked about Carolyn a great deal on our first few dates. I like to say the three of us are dating. As he’s shared more about their relationship over the past few months—day-to-day events, as well as more intimate details—I’ve inserted myself into the scene. I’ve wanted that kind of relationship for many years. He knows about “the fish that died,” so when I have those moments of longing, I’ll say, “I wish I had a fish that died” and he understands how I feel.

Our relationship of three has grown and blossomed, although not without some bumps and obstacles along the way. Walling myself off emotionally for most of my life is not the best formula for a successful relationship, but I’m slowly letting go of old fears and anxieties and he’s slowly moving forward. Carolyn will always be a part of our relationship, and I’m perfectly o.k. with that. I’ve called on her many times for advice and have considered having a bracelet engraved, “WWCD”—what would Carolyn do?

This isn’t the way I planned my life, but this is the unplanned life I have. It’s ironic that I “had” to wait until age 65 to find what I didn’t know I wanted. I’ve finally found what truly makes me happy—and I finally have a fish that….lives.