RIP: SALT, A TRUSTED AND LOYAL FRIEND

On a hot sunny Saturday morning in late July, Henry, his friend Sebastian and Sebastian’s grandfather went crabbing at the town pier in Quogue, New York. Henry returned home with a big smile on his face and a three-inch crab in his grey bucket. “His name is Salt,” the six-year-old announced with pride, placing the bucket in the cool garage.

Everyone in residence — Henry’s parents, grandparents, uncle, aunt and brother — marveled at Salt’s size, congratulated Henry on his incredible catch, and then went on to tennis, golf, the beach, the deck, the day. 

Consequently, no one knows the exact hour Salt passed. But later that afternoon when Henry discovered his cherished crustacean belly-up in the bucket, the brown-haired boy was bereft. “Salt was my first pet,” Henry said, walking through the house with shoulders slumped down to his knees.

Salt’s funeral service was set for the next morning — Sunday at 9. Shortly before the burial, Daddy dug a hole in the side yard. Henry and his brother Miles, still in their pajamas, gently placed Salt in an empty Adidas shoe box. The mourners then lined up behind Henry and marched out to the yard, each carrying a sea shell.

The Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home in New York City would be lucky indeed to have such distinguished graveside assistance available on such equally short notice. Fortunately, two houseguests rose to the occasion for the Celebration of Salt’s Life.

Uncle Theo (who Henry calls Uncle Weird-Beard) is a meditation specialist who’s studied with the Maharishi in India. Grandpa Bob (aka Mr. Wonderful) is a songwriter par excellence. Together they staged a memorable sendoff.

“Salt the Crab, we hardly knew thee,” Uncle Weird-Beard eulogized to the small circle of mourners. “We only had you for a short time before you left this world for the cosmic estuaries of crab heaven. You were a pinchy sort. Sideways about everything. Especially walking. Which reminds us that not all paths in lives are direct.”

Uncle Weird-Beard went on, “You could (impressively, I might add), breathe under water.  Or not — and maybe that’s why you died. But since you’re a crab, maybe you died of cancer. Who knows? Your death, just as your life, was a mystery.”  After a few more words, he added, “Goodbye, Salt.”

Our eyes then turned to Grandpa Bob who strummed his guitar and invited us to join him in song:

Goodbye my friend, goodbye my buddy.

You will be missed by most everybody.

Salt, may you rest in peace,

Under a rock, here by the beach.

By this time there was hardly a dry eye in the back yard. (A few giggles, perhaps, but respectful giggles.)

Henry and his brother then placed Salt’s cardboard coffin in the hole and patted down the dirt. Each mourner placed a clam shell atop the fresh earth. Henry added the final touch: a large mollusk shell that read,  R.I.P SALT, a loyal and trusted friend.

Yes, we adults chuckled a bit during Salt’s funeral service. But each one of us felt a special heart tug for Henry who was genuinely affected by the death of something he treasured. Who among us doesn’t remember the day our first dog, or cat, or goldfish, died? Suddenly, our rosy world lost a little luster.

As adults we know that life goes on. Henry had just experienced his first lesson in that important premise.

———(Originally published in August, 2016)