Contain

One day in May 2019, ten fish died in Charlotte, North Carolina.

My father had inherited a pond full of koi fish as a part of my parent’s official down-size, having finally shed the weight of a household sized for five. The previous owner of the house and the pond that came along with it, a man named Trent, had lived the robust life of a long-time bachelor. This, plus a healthy income I assume, had afforded him quite the collector’s spirit when it came to koi fish, with eleven mature fish in total.

Before the decision was even made to purchase the home, my father had begun drafting plans for a small lap pool, which would have evicted the koi from their tranquil home. However, a few days after moving in, I walked out of the back only to find him gently scattering food pellets across the water’s surface. “I call that big white one Jaws” he said, pointing between lily pads at a large pale fish that lurked among the 3 foot depths. It was thereafter more or less understood by all that the koi weren’t going anywhere.

Another factor which may have affected my father's opinion of this aquatic inheritance was their value. Trent had told my father during one of the many walkabout inspections of the home to take note of a number of koi in particular, remarking that they were high quality “sanke” koi. This meant they had an extremely desirable combination of both black and red color overlays and as such, had been purchased at a price of $2000 each. This became a heavily rotated anecdote of my father, though the amount was never directly stated, more issued in the form of a pop quiz for any visitor, how much would you guess a fish like that would cost? When ultimately all estimations fell short, he would divulge two-thousand dollars, can you believe it with both an air of disdain for a younger man's frivolous spending and a wink of pride for his savvy acquisition.

Under his care, with twice a day feedings, the koi flourished, each one growing to an absolutely enthralling size. As my parents approached a certain age, they began traveling more often and in their absence, I often became the default guardian of these treasured fish. While my dad always left specific instructions for their twice-a-day feeding and care, I often took to just occasionally doing double portions at night. Afterall, these were very fancy fish but nonetheless, they were fish. They didn’t exactly run up to meet you at the door. At the very most, you could consider yourself honored if a koi fish acknowledged that you were blocking the sun. But these exotic pets provided that perfect combination of routine maintenance and leisurely decadence that retired men seem to enjoy, and so the koi became a great source of joy for my father.

As it followed, one weekend while my parents enjoyed a long visit with friends out of town, I was charged with the care and keeping of the koi. On the day of their return, I made sure to arrive slightly early to ensure the house still looked pristine. I even arranged the pillows and did that extra karate chop to get that fancy center crease you see in Southern home magazines. I heard the car pull in and readied the smile I felt my two hard working parents deserved. Frankly, it had not been an easy weekend, or week, or year, but our family has always had a very the show must go on approach to hard times. I sat at the kitchen island and waited, facial choreography at the ready, just waiting for the music to kick on. A few minutes later, neither one of them had entered the back door and the room remained silent, so I walked out back. There, I saw my father standing by the pond, looking bewildered, with a dead fish at his feet.

“What happened?”

Apologies began to flow out of my mouth but at the same time, I really didn’t know. I was immediately overcome with the shame of disappointing him, destroying something he was proud of after so many years of paternal sacrifice. He looked at me and I suddenly became aware of the heat of the show’s spotlight turning my face hot, and turned heel to go cry backstage. I had really tried to keep all the balls in the air. What happened?

My mother came up a few minutes later to console me, an effort which in retrospect was nothing short of saintly. That’s when she told me that they had gotten a call during the car ride back home informing them that my father’s mother, my grandmother Nita, had become non-responsive. I needed to pull it together, because they needed to go be with her now. 

I went back downstairs to the backyard. My Dad had vials of water swirling in shades of pink and purple, each one telling of a different frantic search to solve a mystery. Lined up around the edge of the pool, were five more dead fish, like tally marks of my failure. My dad explained that they were suffocating, that there wasn’t enough air in the pond. “I’m just hoping the rest of them make it,” he said, shaking his head.

After they left, I continued the search for answers, only to discover how most of the others had met their end. In a desperate attempt to seek out oxygen, many of the koi had tried to propel themselves between the stones that lined the pond, becoming stiffly lodged once death had taken over. Thus began my long, difficult game of post mortem hide-and-seek. One by one I pried out my father’s prizes, tears of childish remorse streaming down my face. I had seen these fish eat heartily no less than 12 hours ago, alive and thriving. What happened?

While previous aquatic pets in life had bid a final farewell with a quick flush, these 2 foot behemoths were not exactly destined for an easy porcelain stairway to heaven. I might have considered giving them a full burial had it not been for the family dogs, who were now already growing fond of the increasing rankness of the dead fish laying out in the sun. I tell myself that the uncontrolled curiosity of snouts and paws would surely have excavated whatever mass grave I would have attempted.  So ultimately, I filled garbage bags with what was, in theory, around ten thousand dollars worth of koi fish.

Over the next three days, my grandmother transitioned away from the fiery Georgian schoolteacher into whatever other mystery awaits us. Her bedside vigil was kept most ferociously by my father, one of four children, who mostly sat alone by her bedside in a small room. He had called for palliative care, but they told him they were not able to come for a day or so. Upon first arriving at the ward, I found myself struggling to cross the threshold into a room which seemed so otherworldly. The knot of fear in my throat clenched so tight as I stood planted on this side of reality, a normal hallway where I could hear nurses down the hall hosting the kind of casual conversation shared between bored co-workers looking to pass the time. Because I loved the world on this side of the doorframe, where time could be something that just passed along.

My father saw me standing in the hall from the large armchair he had pulled up beside my grandmother’s bed just close enough to have his hand at the ready to place it on her frail arm as she endured the unknown sensations of parting this world.

“Come in here. It’s ok.” And because he was the one saying it, it was.

The next day, my father and I took a measuring tape to try and put some numbers behind the chaos of the universe. The three sole surviving koi looked on as we climbed over rocks, taking our measurements and rounding down rather than up, just to be safe. The result of our investigation was this. It seemed as though, upon further review, Trent had overexaggerated the size of the pond during the sale of the house. The pond we thought was 2000 gallons was actually closer to 1100. Both the waterfall and bubbler features operated on the same electrical circuit. That circuit had shorted out during a massive storm, meaning not only was no oxygen being added to the pond, but the additional rainfall had diluted the oxygen content even further, suffocating the fish. 

I regret not just indulging my father in his once in the morning, once at night feeding regimen. Had I more dutifully reported for what I believed to just be a somewhat spoiled schedule, I might have been able to fix the aeration system in time.  I still wonder how close the timing was. Because let me tell you this, it was very close.

On the third night, after palliative care finally arrived, my father came home to try and get some sleep. Hours later, he missed a call. It was very close.

A few days after the funeral, my father and I drove out to Monroe, North Carolina, to meet with a mobile fish hatchery driving in from the coast. They arrived an hour late, by which time a crowd had gathered, all grouchily sweating in the parking lot of a Tractor Supply. Hundreds of catfish, blue gill, and stock fish were funneled into large plastic bags, inflated with pure oxygen and quickly passed off in cash exchanges. 

The koi fish were slopped into two large blue buckets to the side. For a second, we stood there stupidly not knowing what to do next. I politely waited for them to produce nets, or step down to assist, but instead the woman called from the truck “Don’t be afraid, just stick your hand in and grab 'em.” The fish were so numerous and small that once you targeted one and quickly struck to catch it, you would have to pull your hand out and carefully draw two fingers back to see if you had in fact, captured your intended target. It was a lot of splashy trial and error. 

In the end, for eighty bucks and some soggy shoes my father and I took our bag of our selections home. Compared to their hulking predecessors, these koi seemed so delicate all swimming together in a single gallon bag like some kind of nostalgic prize from a wayward fair. Since then, under the same rigorous feeding schedule, they have quickly grown. I will tell you honestly that they are very mediocre looking, nothing like the beauties they replaced. Their colors are generally muddled and undefined, but even worse, there are more koi fish in the pond now than before. Because we thought not all the fish might not make it, we replaced the ten fish who perished with thirteen new koi. And they all just keep getting bigger.

It is worth noting here it is often incorrectly stated that, like their carp cousin the goldfish, koi will grow only to the size of the pond in which they are held. But in my quest for answers to absolve my guilt, I found out that this widely accepted fact actually isn’t true at all. The size of a container will not stop a koi from growing. It will slow it down, but ultimately, a koi fish will simply become as large as it is meant to be, no matter what.

There are now moments that I think of the terror I felt from the hallway, when at the end of her life my grandmother seemed like a small woman in a small room. I think about the wet thump of plastic bags heavy with bloated fish unceremoniously hitting the bottom of a trash can. I think about the many times my heart was aching and the insidious performer in my mind barks out that’s showbiz baby! I reflect on the many ways in life I try to make my grief very small, but in reality, I am creating a container that is doomed. That grief would grow quickly, and then stop until more space is created for it, that would be a nice way for life to be. But sadness will gaze into you with the same excruciatingly fogged eyes of a fish who didn’t know any better than to try and escape by burrowing deeper. And now there is nothing left to do now but hope that life can make the container bigger, and surrender to the truth that you cannot make the grief smaller. So, I take my medication. I try to let go of things I cannot change. I practice asking for help. I look at my body in the mirror and attempt to say with the same grace as my father:

Come in here, it’s ok.