Today I had my first kill. It wasn’t intentional. It’s not like I have a license to kill. It just happened. It was an accident. Okay, maybe if I hadn’t been speeding to Leon’s office to help out this morning, it wouldn’t have happened. But I can’t take it back. There are consequences to our actions. I’ve tried to teach my children this for years and often feel like a failure at even this simple lesson. Now I know why. Because consequences speak louder than momspeak. Until they experience the consequences for themselves, they will never believe that speed kills. As I have.
One moment I’m driving along, singing to my favorite Casting Crowns CD, and the next I’m left with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, as though I’ve been head-butted by a toddler. I didn’t have time to break. It all happened much too fast. Just a sickening thud and crunch of bone.
They usually move like the wind, whipping between cars as they make a dash for the opposite side of the road, but this one moved more like a slight breeze, cause he caught his death under my rear tire. He met his maker where the rubber meets the road.
I wanted to stop and see if he needed CPR but there was a car directly behind me that slowed when they saw Mr. Squirrel flip out from under my tire and slap itself silly on the cold asphalt, obviously in the throes of death. The accusatory glare of the driver made me keep the pedal to the medal. I think I saw a PETA sticker on their windshield.
Today has been a tough day—for me as well as for the squirrel. Well….his was definitely worse, but I have to live with the consequences, the blood guilt, the memory of what I saw in the rearview mirror (flip flop, flip flop), and what I see every time I look in the bathroom mirror (besides water spots and toothpaste spit)—A squirrel killer.