Pitiful creature 🐭

My husband’s grandmother passed away recently. She was almost 99, and aged in an authentic way that inspired me. She was worldly and graceful and well read. She shared her compassion for humanity and her wildflowers. I’ve learned so much from her in the 20 years I’ve known her.

A decade ago she downsized from her big ol’ house to a little retirement apartment. She got rid of most of her earthly possessions, enjoying having little to care for (aside from her many plants.) In spite of this cleansing of possessions, one little knick-knack remained. This ugly little brass mouse sat on her bookshelf all alone.

Of course the little fellow caught the attention of my kiddos, and she would let them play with it when we visited. I asked her one day what it’s significance was, where he had come from. “Oh, he doesn’t have a good backstory, he was just such a pitiful creature I couldn’t bear to part with him.”

I loved that. No story or special memory, she just felt sorry for him so she brought him along for the next chapter. And because of that he became special.

I was away when they cleaned out her apartment, it happened so quickly after her death. I called around when I returned home, asking about the mouse. It seemed he’d been put in a box to donate or pass on. Not one of the other family members or friends knew what he represented, or where he had gone. I reminded myself it wasn’t important, the memory was enough.

At her funeral service a distant relative found me and handed me an envelope with my name misspelled in sharpie on the front. “I heard you were looking for this,” he said. I opened it and there was my little friend, truly a pitiful creature. I thanked him through tears in my eyes and clutched that little mouse in my palm for days, thinking of her.

As long as I live he’ll have a place of honour in my home. A special little friend.