A Bug Story

Emma. That’s what I decided to name the unusually large mosquito eater that was zooming around my house. Those bugs are creepy looking, like spindly daddy long legs with wings, but anything that eats the annoying, disease-carrying stingers that constantly welt my sweet skin is a friend of mine.

I turned around from my computer and saw Emma suddenly dive-bomb to the ground, holding a large gray object. I figured she must’ve caught a moth. But as I looked closer, I saw a dust bunny stuck to her front leg. Softly, I approached and tried to pull it off, but she flew away from me in a panic, probably assuming I was trying to kill her. I chased her around the room for a while, seeing if I could get her to hold still long enough for me to free her leg. But the more I tried to help her, the more frantic and exhausted she became. “Let nature take its course,” a voice in my head advised. Sadly, I went back to my laptop, troubled with the realization that she’d soon be dead.

An hour later, I saw Emma on my kitchen table, still tangled up in the dust bunny. By now, she was almost completely out of energy and was barely quivering her antennae. This time as I approached her, she was too tired to fight me or to flee, and I was able to gently release her leg. Lesson 1: Timing. Letting nature take its course doesn’t necessarily mean that things are completely out of our control or that someone or something is going to die. It can also mean for us to let the Universe do its thing, while we patiently watch things unfold and wait for the opportune time to take action.

I also recognized the implications for helping people. When someone is stuck in his or her own emotional dust bunny – anxious, angry, and shunning others’ assistance – it’s not the best time to try to help. Wait until they’re open, vulnerable, and frankly, so tired of being where they are that they’re able to let help in.

I walked into my bathroom, where a few bugs often buzz around my mirror when I leave the window open too long. Sure enough, I saw a gnat. With a swift blow of a tissue, I killed it to bring to Emma. Lesson 2: Hard decisions. Although I felt badly about killing another creature, I made a choice. This bug could potentially bite me, whereas Emma was there to protect me. I chose to help the one who helped rather than harmed me. I slid the tiny dead gnat toward Emma’s mouth on the end of a toothpick. I jerked my hand back as she suddenly slammed her head down in attack mode, either at me or to eat the bug, I couldn’t tell. Either way, I was happy she still had that much energy. I went off to bed, hoping she would eat the gnat and regain her full strength.

When I got up to get some water early in the morning, Emma had found her way into my bedroom, sleeping on the floor right below me. I didn’t know why she’d chosen to come be near me, but I felt a little surge of affection for my newfound friend. If you’ve ever seen those videos of animals from very different species like elephants and dogs that became close pals, it felt kind of like that. Lesson 3: We can form close bonds with those who are very different from us.

A few hours later, when I was ready to get up, I realized in horror that my heating pad had slid off the bed and fallen on top of Emma. That would be ironic: saving her life only to kill her several hours later. Lesson 4: Often, completely unknowingly and without any poor intentions, we inadvertently hurt the ones we love. In a panic, I lifted the pad and saw her mangled, fluttering body, sighing with relief that she was still alive. In a Herculean effort, Emma untangled her legs, unstuck her wings, and flipped herself back upright.

Walking over to the back door, I gently blew her into the open air. I stood watching as she slowly crawled up the stucco outside wall. When I came back to check on her five minutes later, she had flown away. “Goodbye, Emma,” I mouthed silently, feeling a little pang in my heart. Lesson 5: Letting go.

I went onto the Internet to learn more about mosquito eaters. I learned that their real name is crane fly and that they don’t actually eat mosquitoes; in fact, the adults eat only nectar or nothing at all. Sure enough, when I looked on the kitchen table, the dead gnat was still there, untouched. Last lesson: Life is all how we look at it and what we choose to get out of it.

A few days later, Emma came back inside my house to die. I almost stepped on her in front of the stove while I was cooking dinner. I knew it was her, not only from her size, but also because there was still a tiny bit of lint stuck to her wing. She was lying on her back, barely twitching. I blew on her softly to right her again, but she was too weak. The weight of her wings flipped her on her back again, and her legs began to curl under. During my online research, I’d learned that adult crane flies don’t live long; as soon as they mature, they mate and die.

I said a silent prayer for my tiny teacher, wishing she might have all the delicious nectar she could ever want in Bug Heaven. I scooped her up on a little slip of paper and carried her to the garden, gently placing her beneath the white rose bush. “Thanks, Emma,” I whispered, blowing her now still body a kiss. Final exam and integration of all lessons.

 

© 2012 by Laurie Gardner