I’ve been recently noticing that when I let the cats out of the garage in the morning their food bowls are licked clean. It’s not typical of them, cats as they are, they prefer to whine over the crumbs and join a hunger strike until the bowl is refilled daily with a fresh layer of kibble.
To make a long story short I’ll tell you Trever was out of town and a Possum was living in the photos umbrella above our cabinets in our garage and coming out at night to steal the cat’s food. Once I realized what was happening I went into a panic that was highly disproportionate for the situation. This is how I am with all rodents (rodents?) especially ones that are the size of a dog. I may have screamed a multitude of times over an animal whose key defense mechanism is pretending it’s dead. Love me as I am though, this is how I feel about Possums.
Trever coached me over the phone to shove the umbrella off the cabinets in hope that the large rat would flee. As I climbed on the ladder at a safe distance I used a long broom to shove. I had visions of the thing launching at me and attacking my face with its creepy claws. My visions were detailed and horrifying and yet I prevailed and shoved until the whole thing came down.
I was ready for a rambunctious and aggressive exit but what happened was nothing. It just layed in the umbrella. It fell the distance of 10 feet and laid there like it didn’t care, just staring at me. If I were someone else I could be a predator, and it was just looking at me like it didn’t care. It had its teeth showing but just stared, like it was mad but not about to doing anything about it.
I was unequipped to deal with its passive behavior, so my step-dad had to come and finish the job. I don’t mean that in the mobster way, he just shooed the thing into the front yard where it surely escaped into my neighbor’s garage. Sorry Louie.
I was later re-telling the story to my family and my sister Brittany was googling the horrid animals and educated us on the topic. You may know this, but the possum has a physiological response to stress that causes it’s entire body to go slack. We know they play dead but what I didn’t realize is they can’t control it. It’s not a choice they can make, their body forces them to lay there, similar to the experience of fainting. Their lips curl back so their teeth show and everyone around them thinks they’re dead.
I almost gasped. The possum, the ugly overgrown and fowl rat, IT IS MY spirit animal.
Ok rewind for some context: I’ve been watching my sister grieve and it is so completely different from anything I have ever or will ever be capable of. She’s warm and open with her grief. She is welcoming others into her process and allowing them to share in her pain. She is gracious and connected to her faith. She is lovely and broken and it’s a beautiful and painful thing to behold. She is present to her emotions and welcoming all of the pain and all of the questions. She laughs still and cooks still and I cannot understand it.
I found myself in my darkest moments under the covers of my bed with no contact with the outside world and a never ending marathon of friends episode. My friend Natalie said she would have comforted me but we’re both aware she would have had to break through my bedroom window and lay next to me in complete silence without ever touching me or the remote. I do NOT process externally, typically I have to have completely processed the entire experience and felt all the feelings connected to it before I maybe will let one really safe person into a tiny pin prick of all that is going on. It feels so fragile within me, like an open wound that someone may not handle correctly. If someone says something wrong I have no capacity for grace when I’m in pain. I’m ugly and secluded and dark in my grief.
I’ve let myself off the hook by telling myself and others that grief is like fight or flight. At the bottom of the pit there is very little adjusting to your natural response to tragedy. I do however; wish I had Summer’s response to life and loss.
But alas, I’m a possum, this is me. My body forces my lips to curl up so I look as though I’m hissing at the world. Grief makes my legs numb and my heart cold. I lay there with barely a pulse and breathe until the pain relieves and my ears start twitching until I can begin to think about doing something else with my life other than lying in a photo umbrella in a garage. I stare at others, foe or friend, God or man, and I respond with silence.
I have deep empathy for the possum now. The poor dears. We get each other.
I clearly have a long list of people who want to be my friend. This will push that list to an unmanageable number. I’m a beautiful spring flower.