Just nuts
Squirrel figure in a container.
They have to be screwing with me.
That is the only possible explanation for why my allegedly loving family selected this grave marker for me. I don’t even like squirrels. In fact, I hate the outdoors, and now I am forced to spend eternity with this thing looking like it wants to eat my bones. Oh, and did I mention the background of this photo is a gigantic chicken coop with cackling, crowing, creeping chickens just meandering all day like I am not trying to get some damn rest?
It has to be a cruel joke. I am trying to decide what I did to my children to make them hate me like this. Sticking me in the ground with this “sculpture” and its beady eyes and loud face. And what is even on top of it? A water jug? An interpretive acorn?
I know I wasn’t always the best father. I missed a lot of their school plays and sports games growing up. I traveled a lot for work as an investment broker. My long hours and misery paid for their college educations, weddings, vacations, and grandchildren. Those sacrifices were worth it, or at least I assumed they were.
One time. I mentioned a damn squirrel one time when the kids were younger. It was a rare instance when I was home on a weekend, and we were all enjoying a picnic in the backyard. My wife Lynn and our two kids, Jennie the oldest at 6, and Benji the youngest at 4. To be clear, they were enjoying being outside. I was slathering my pale skin in sunscreen, pulling the brim of my hat over my face, and spraying on copious amounts of insect repellant.
Our dog was lolling around the yard scratching and sniffing, until he came to a stop at a tree. He barked his head practically off at the squirrel. The damn thing didn’t move. Just sat there staring at the German Shepherd as if it was a toy Poodle.
“I wish I had half the bravery of that squirrel,” I murmured. I’d been feeling burnt out and tired for a while, but I wasn’t brave enough to do anything about it. I wanted more days like this. Wanted more time with my wife and family. But I was too scared to do anything about it, and I had a heart attack at the ripe old age of 52. My job was trying to kill me, but luckily I survived. It was the exact wakeup call I needed. I quit my job after I was discharged and never looked back. We had enough savings that I could do what I finally wanted - go back and teach finance at a community college nearby. Sure, grading was intense, but at least I was home to see my young family grow.
Two decades later, I died from cancer. You know, those narratives about being a “warrior” and “fighting” are such bullshit. I lost my battle, but not without trying. Somehow it feels like I failed myself, my family, my world. Out of the blue, Benji told me one day during my treatment that I was far braver than the squirrel in the tree. I was shocked he remembered, being so young. But it was a rare moment with his dad, of course it was imprinted on his brain like it was on mine. “Thank you, son. I feel braver than the squirrel at this moment.”
I had my will all set up, but I never though I’d have to specify to not bury me in the ground among the bugs, and dirt, and cackling chickens. Those bastards must be laughing at my fate. I swore I wrote down that I wanted to be cremated and stuck on a shelf forever. I guess not. And now, not only am I stuck here in the ground listening to nature’s monsters, I also have to deal with this squirrel statue pressing on my face.
What can a guy do to catch a break? It’s just nuts.
