Stupid Squirrel
It was a dark and stormy night… wait wrong story, sorry. It was a fine fall
morning… there that’s better. It was a fine fall mourning as I headed down
toward town. The sun was shining through brilliant red and yellow leaves. The
intensity of color is what draws the tourists to New England, and it was at it
peak this week. It was the intensity of tourists that brought me on the road to
town. Our guesthouse was full and they would want to be fed. I needed to go to
town to stock up on supplies. The tourists love New England for the fall colors.
I love New England for the cemeteries. Little old ones were around every corner.
I love to walk in them and wonder about the lives written on the stones. I never
thought I would need one so soon. After all, I am only 24, and as far as I know
in perfect health. I feel good, and if I do say so, I look good too.
I had just about reached Highway 22 when it happened. I glanced to the side a
moment to look at one of the several cemeteries I passed on the route. I had not
visited this one yet and I made a note to stop on the way home if there was
time. When I looked back, there it was, right in the middle of the road as calm
as could be: A stupid squirrel munching on a large acorn. I had to swerve to
avoid it because it did not seem in any hurry to move. It was then I made my big
mistake. Before I fully recovered from the swerve, I looked back to be sure I
had missed the squirrel. Sure enough, I saw it walk leisurely off the road like
nothing had happened. It was a mistake you see, because some idiot took
advantage of my momentary inattention and put a very large oak tree in my path.
I hated to hurt the tree, but I could not avoid it. Everything happened in a
strange slow motion. The tree getting closer, then the hood flying up as I hit,
air bag exploding in my face. It’s sort of
odd that I don’t remember any pain when my head twisted violently from the
impact, the twist that shattered my neck and effectively ended my life. But I do
remember an awful crunching sound, then silence.
Someone must have heard or seen the crash because the ambulance arrived in just
a very few minutes. I think the EMTs knew I was as good as dead as soon as they
saw my head nearly twisted around backwards, but they found my drivers license
with the organ donor sticker and knew they had to keep me breathing if at all
possible. So they stuck in the vent tube and puffed away all the way to the
hospital. In spite of the fact I was basically brain dead, they put me on
immediate life support. But there really wasn’t anything they could do. They
made arrangements for a Medivac helicopter to fly me down to the big transplant
center downstate. They let mom and dad ride along so they could be with me when
the official end came.
At the big hospital, they took me directly to a private room near the operating
rooms. Mom and dad held my hands as they turned off the ventilator and removed
the tube from my throat and the IV lines and other medical stuff. The only thing
they left was the heart monitor, which beeped slower and slower and finally
stopped. Mom kissed my forehead. Dad went out and told the doctor I was ready.
They wheeled me into the operating room. No need now to wait for
anesthesiologists or anything. They had only one mission: remove as many of my
useable parts as possible as quickly as possible and get them shipped. My
kidneys went to a teenager who had been on dialysis since she was 9 and to a 47
year old male nurse. My liver was split in half and given to a pair of twins who
were dying of a shared congenital liver defect. My heart and lungs flew out to
Chicago to a young mother dying of heart and lung failure. Parts of my eyes went
to an old lady with glaucoma who could then read for the first time in years.
That is just a sampling. All in all it took them 6 hours to get everything and I
was pretty much a hollow shell. They crudely stitched me up and sent me to the
morgue.
My parents arranged for me to be shipped back home for burial. I flew out first
class and came home in a plastic bag. The funeral director had a hard time with
the embalming since I had so many leaks into my belly from the surgery. But he
packed my chest and belly with padding to restore something like my natural
shape and managed to get enough embalming fluid into me to last for the few days
until my funeral. He washed me all over very gently, which was nice, and then
dressed me in the cloths my parents had sent over: My best silk lingerie, hose,
and the pink satin bridesmaids dress and long gloves I wore for my sisters
wedding last year. By the time he was finished with my hair and make-up I think
I probably looked quite stunning.
My parents picked out a really nice casket. It was polished light maple with
silver gold handles and was lined with shiny white satin. I lay in it like a
princess, my long dark hair spread over the satin pillow and my hands folded
peacefully on my stomach, holding a singles perfect white rose. For the wake,
they dimmed the lights and put candles all around. There were tons of people who
came to pay their last respects. I guess you just don’t know how many friends
you have until you are dead. There wasn’t a ton of flowers since mom and dad
requested donations to charity instead. But what were there were really nice:
White and pink roses and white lilies, my favorites. All in all it was a nice
affair and I was sort of sad I didn’t live to see it.
My funeral was the next day at the big church in town. It was packed with
people. They left my casket open but covered me with a pink veil in honor of
church traditions. It was a really nice service. Some of the family from the
people who received my organs where their and spoke a few words of thanks. Who
ever planned it did a pretty good job of celebrating the good things about me
with out getting to weepy about how I died. Like the wake, I’m sort of sorry I
missed it.
When it was done, they closed my casket and drove me to one of those country
cemeteries I like so much. There they laid me into my grave in a simple
ceremony. I hope after that they all went and had a party.
So here I am, resting forever six feet underground with a belly full of cotton.
A squirrel buried an acorn in the loose dirt of my freshly filled grave, so in a
few years an oak tree will probably be growing over me. What is it with these
stupid oak trees?? I hope they pick a nice stone. I would like the inscription
to read something like this: “by dying she saved a lot of people… and one stupid
squirrel”
Copyright by Casketgal (2003).