What Desiree the fish taught me about grief and loss
Desiree
When I was 8 years old I was given a large fish tank for my birthday. It was a hefty 180 litre tank on a pine stand with a bright iridescent lamp. It had all the accoutrements of a very excited first time fish owner, a whirring filter, a garish pink and purple plastic castle and a piece of driftwood surrounded by a forest of horn wort and Java Fern plants. Once the tank was filled and the PH meticulously balanced I went to the Glenferrie Rd Aquarium and excitedly picked five prized goldfish and three tiny tiger fish for my tank. One of the goldfish I named Desiree, the largest of the fish with a striking iridescent orange body and translucent fins.
Besides the daily feeding and water testing, new Pet ownership also came with a laborious fortnightly deep clean. This process involved the removal of all the objects and filter for a wipe down and the siphoning of 60% of the water into a bucket, which unsurprisingly smelt, and if I wasn’t quick enough tasted like stagnant pond juice.
My first fish died within the first year. I remember watching it bob upside down at the surface of the water while the other fish merely swam by seemingly unfazed. I cried from the visual shock of its lifeless and soulless body, but then after a while I scooped it up and ceremoniously buried the fish in the backyard. I made my reluctant siblings and parents witness the funeral which I officiated with a moment of silence and a W.H auden poem ‘stop all the clocks’. As the years passed the fish continued to cycle through my tank, sometimes only lasting a few months and sometimes a few years. The burials became more informal, to the point when some were merely dropped into the toilet with a chosen word of gratitude and a final flush. But these losses felt manageable, predictable, part of the course of pet ownership.
When I was twelve a virus struck my fish and they all died suddenly except Desiree who looked extremely unwell gasping for air at the surface. I was devastated, I started crying and screaming as I watched their inverted bodies at the top of the tank. When I had capacity I rang the emergency vet with my emergency, my real and very big loss. The vet told me there was nothing that could be done as the last fish would inevitably die within the day from the virus, but just in case to put Desiree in a bucket of clean water in the remote chance she could survive. I woke through the night to check on her but by morning she was upside down like the others, her iridescent belly facing my bedroom roof like a full moon. I buried Desiree with the other goldfish in the mounting pet cemetery on the side of my house where the lemon tree lurked. The now empty fish tank sat in the corner, a mausoleum to my loss as I grappled with the enormity of multiple shock losses alongside sadness, guilt and anger at how I let a virus permeate the entire ecosystem.
This was my first experience of grief, it was all encompassing and so very sad. It made my tummy hurt and my brain feel foggy. It also felt something like fear. I took a few days off school and decided I couldn’t be in the same room as the tank. So I moved my bed into the lounge room and renamed my bedroom ‘the death room’. I wouldn’t go into the death room except to quickly change my school uniform in the morning and glance at the empty tank and then bolt straight out. This went on for weeks if not a full calendar month. My parents simply allowed me the time and space to grapple with my loss and talk about it incessantly to anyone who would listen. My fish had all died and now there was none.
At some point a month or two later I re-entered the death room and sat with the empty tank, the grief didn’t have the same intensity as it had a month prior, it was still there but almost less intrusive. I felt ok to be in the room, so that day I went shopping with my mum and bought a very expensive collectable crystal fish to place in the tank to commemorate Desiree and the others. I then picked up my bucked and hose and filled the tank. Once the tank was fully restored to its former glory, the light and filter switched on. I went back to Glenferrie road to pick out my five new goldfish and three new tiger fish for my tank and move back into my room.
As it happens in life my losses continued and became steadily bigger in magnitude. But somehow the death of Desiree and the other fish resourced my grief for these later losses. I knew the very real sensation in my body and I was able to give my grief space, time and the importance it very much needed.
Tips and resources for early grief
A downloadable PDF document is found HERE
Nyx Funerals’ Launch
Nyx Funerals launched on June 21st at Studio Take Care in Brunswick, Naarm.
Nyx Funerals launched on June 21st 2024 at Studio Take Care in Brunswick, Naarm. Since the inception of planning the business I knew I wanted to begin with a decadent and reverent launch to ‘show not tell’ the power of ritual and meaning making events. So as Nyx is the primordial Greek goddess of the dark night, I thought it only fitting to launch with a winter solstice soiree.
The night began with Rose Gonzales playing intricate and delicate Spanish classical guitar as guests promenaded in, wearing 'funeral couture’ as stated on the invite. The room became full of friends, family and those in the death and funeral industry I had cold called to attend and who had graciously accepted. The room was an abundance of creatives, change makers and kind hearts.
The space was adorned by two floral sculptures by Babylon Flowers and the centerpiece a coffin charcuterie board by dear friend and artist Skye Kelly. She had planned, sourced and constructed the art work over many weeks, to make an unbelievable sculptural feast, even going so far as to hand craft the crockery and candles. It naturally became, as is often the way with food, an inviting place for conversations over large wheels of cheese, a tower of red grapes and shafts of honey comb sourced from our bee hive.
Once all the guests had arrived I gave a welcoming speech to introduce the business and what I planned to do with Nyx Funerals. I spoke of my intimate relationship with grief, with the tragic loss of my brother Jimi and then in quick succession the death of my mother Faye. I spoke of the healing and deep honoring that occurred in planning and performing their funerals as an extended family.
To situate the business I spoke of the inherent death phobic western culture we live in that is of stark difference from that of many cultures globally but also of the First People of this land, with their strong and enduring connection to country and intricate and enduring death and bereavement rituals and protocols. Australia is presently seeing the rise of the ‘positive death movement’ where people are having frank and open discussions about their end of life and funeral plans. This is seen through the rising interest in green burials, alternativeand secular funerals, home based vigils and being informed and decisive in making end of life choices. It is this wave of change that I am excited to hopefully be a small part of.
This will be seen through the three offerings of Nyx Funerals:
Funeral Celebrancy
Grief Support
Funeral Planning and advice (Nyx advice line)
The evening was closed by a writing and burning participatory solstice ritual. Guests were invited to write a letter of something that didn’t serve them, that they wished to release and let go of. They then took this letter to ‘the bird’, performance artist Wai Zea, where she tied the letters individually onto a solstice log and by completion the log was adorned of 70 white epithets. Once completed the bird slowly processed outside where a fire was burning under the full moon and Rose played sparse and atmospheric guitar. The log was then placed the into the fire and we all watched as all the letters burnt and smoke was released.
After the completion of the night a group of friends and family packed up the party as lots of us continued on with the night at Noisy Ritual on Lygon street. A sea of black lace, fascinators and talk of death and mortality. By midnight I was home, exhausted but so very grateful and inspired for Nyx Funerals.
I want to thank those who attended, your presence was deeply appreciated and made the evening what it was. I’m excited to work in the death and grief space and hope you all continue to live and die well.
Joh x
