Today, in a single, natural life and death moment, I rediscovered the phrase “To Kill A Mockingbird.”
It’s spring. Birds aren’t known for paying attention when they’re in love. So it was, evidently, with the mockingbird that jumped into the path of my ragtop today. I didn’t even hear a thunk, but looking in my rearview mirror, I saw a crumpled dark grey mass in the road.
At least it didn’t suffer. Much. I hope.
When I was telling the story later, I began to cry. Death is hard to take, especially when you cause it. Especially when it’s on accident.
But, what you have to accept is this: It happens.
When it happens, pretty much the only thing you can do is be sad. Maybe you can take precautions so it won’t happen again. Drive slower. Be more attentive. Anticipate foolish birds. Or love-struck deer running across the road. (Fortunately, that one doe flew up in the air, landed on its butt, picked itself up, and dashed off into the woods.) And know that, even if it is your fault, it is part of life. Don’t beat yourself up over it.
Too much.
