Mr. Vandresen

Ode to a fallen friend. RIP Mr. Vandresen..

Today we quietly morn the loss of a fallen friend, a lost brother, Mr. Vandresen. Mr. Vandresen, a turtle...and some say a friend we should have never had to begin with, not only because your spirit could never be owned by anyone, but mostly because a water turtle is a terrible pet.

Mr. Vandresen, you came into our lives as a heavenly gift, fueled by the guilt of taking a vacation without the kids. You spent your days sitting in a tiny plastic box, in water which, much like our lonely hearts, was clouded. Ours clouded with grief at your passing, while yours was clouded with your own feces. We watched as you bravely navigated the waves of your own poop water, inspiring us to move forward through the feces tainted splashes of life. For this, we will ever be grateful. You were a friend to all, a disgusting disgusting standardless friend, who pooped in his own pool.

Mr. Vandresen, you were a constant reminder to me of many things, love, compassion, strength under life's pressures, and the apparent moral imperative of swimming face first into the plastic walls of injustice over and over and over......and over and over. Your inspiration will live on within us all. Just as you filled the kitchen with a warmth much too big to have come from your tiny heart, you also filled the kitchen with stench much to dense to have come from your tiny body. We can but hope to have the same power in our own lives, that omnipresent influence, but instead of a nauseating cloud of methane, an empowering cloud of love.

Mr. Vandresen, we will miss your smile, a smile that we enjoyed...well...not daily, or really weekly since we didn't really hold you that much, but a smile we missed when we realized that you weren't really moving anymore, and likely hadn't in a week or so. The one comfort we have is the simple fact that we can still feel you with us, especially when we see you every time we open the freezer. Your final lesson, patience, patience to wait quietly in the freezer door, snug in your ziplock bag, content in your circumstance, just so you wont stink up the kitchen until Dad is home long enough to dig a hole for you in the back yard. Your sacrifice for us is ever apparent.

Rest in peace, our friend, our brother, gone too soon... Mr. Vandresen.