A SQUIRRELLY TALE

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Sometimes life’s lessons are learned in the strangest ways. Perhaps it’s necessary. We might not recognize them if they came to us by conventional means.  Lectures come to mind.  Blah, blah, blah! An endless stream of words resounding in a tone that neither speaks of their significance nor is conveyed in a way that is like that “deer in a headlight” moment I had that fateful day.

I say “fateful” because I want to believe it so. It would be nice to think my “deer” was supposed to be there on the side of the road that day…. that he was sent by a higher being. Only it wasn’t a deer but rather a squirrel. And a dying squirrel at that. But I’m getting ahead of myself; something I often do when I’m obsessing. 

My story begins on a mundane morning that included running errands. An autumnal crispness was in the air, leaves were just beginning to show their fall color, and squirrels were scampering about collecting nuts in anticipation of winter. 

No! I didn’t hit the squirrel. Thank God! But I did drive by a squirrel who had been hit.  He was on his back, his legs twitching about as if he was struggling to get up. 

In that moment, I forgot about my errands. I forgot about the exercise tape waiting for me at home. I forgot about the housework that needed to be done. All I could think about was that squirrel. I watched him in my rearview mirror, and began praying. Please, let him live. Or at least let him get to the side of the road before being hit again. Or maybe I should have asked he be spared a painfully long death and put out of his misery.  Could I actually pray he be hit again to end his suffering? Ugh! 

I was that desperate. I prayed for all these things as I drove away from the scene of death.  My personal prayers soon turned to more traditional ones. A series of “Our Father’s” and “Hail Mary’s”, and although they didn’t invoke the same passion, they counted just the same. Would they be heard?

That question led to one more, and it was for me. Was I listening?

Here I was, praying for this animal, insignificant to some but very important to me at that moment. This animal had touched me, brought me to tears, and caused me to turn to a higher power on his behalf. An animal? 

My son’s face flashed before my eyes, and my heart took an even sadder turn. We had been in a cold war of sorts for two days. He was a senior in high school and a good kid. Like most teens, life was presenting many changes. College loomed ahead. I, like most mothers, didn’t think he was doing enough…or fast enough. I obsessed over his lack of initiative in scheduling college tours. After all, decisions had to be made! 

My obsessing wasn’t unusual. I was a classic “obsessor” and quite good at it.  In fact, I excelled. I had often promised to change. Forecasting the future was always filled with doom for me. I never imagined good things, only what I knew was going to go wrong. Projecting my worries on my son did no good, but I couldn’t help myself.  I had to take control of the situation or else it wouldn’t get done. Right? Wrong!

He met my urging with indifference. There was nothing to worry about from my son’s perspective. Everything was under control. Not in my eyes.

The story of our fight is long and, because I’m telling it, one-sided, so I will spare you.  Suffice it to say, we argued about his lack of initiative. I thought he had none. He disagreed. I threw up my hands and said he was “on his own”.  I wasn’t going to nag him anymore. Right!  I wish, and I’m sure so did he.

Anyway, a cold war ensued and lasted two days. It ended only because of my squirrel.  As I drove to the post office, I thought about how upset that squirrel made me…how I so passionately prayed for him, but hadn’t done so for me or my son. How could something of little consequence in my life have such an effect on me? And why had I let stubbornness and pride lead to this cold war with a boy who meant so much more? 

It was easy. With this squirrel, I only had to say a prayer, and I continue on my way. It wasn’t that easy. That squirrel stayed with me. With each errand completed, I wondered if he was still alive…still twitching and struggling in the middle of the street. 

He became a symbol to me of how easy it is to care for a stranger but ignore the ones we hold dear. My prayers changed to include my son, and me too.  I needed the strength to swallow my pride and apologize, and I wanted him to see that my obsession was only concern; the ranting of a mother who wants only the best for her “little” boy who was no longer “little”.   

Of course, my story has a strange ending.  I couldn’t help but take the same road home to see if my prayers had been answered. I drove at a slow pace until I was sure I had passed the site of our fateful encounter. Nothing! He was gone. Or had he ever been? I like to think he was angel to teach me a lesson.

I hope my prayers were heard, but more importantly, I hope I’ve truly listened. After all, it’s easy to pray for something but difficult to put those intentions into action. I am a work in progress, and there’s a lot of work to be done. 

Wish me luck and, of course, pray for me and anyone else who needs it…even a silly squirrel. And while you’re at it, pray my son schedules those college tours. I just can’t help myself.  Like I said…a work in progress.