Illegal Foreign Object

I didn’t want the moth to be alone in its final moments. That is not a thought I ever planned on having (much less sharing).

I was sitting on my couch, listening to the newest Foo Fighters album. It’s a love letter to Taylor Hawkins, the former drummer who passed away in March 2022, and Dave Grohl’s mom (who passed away shortly after Hawkins). The emotional bloodletting on the album had me feeling like a raw nerve. I love everyone, but I love very, very few, you know, and those whom I hold dear mean everything. I’m far more comfortable with the idea of being lost than I’ll ever be with losing someone I love. In an admittedly heightened emotional state, I noticed a tiny moth land next to me. Moths flying around the garden is a regular thing, so I went about my business, but after a short time, I realized it hadn’t moved from the spot. When I saw one of its wings vibrating, I sensed it was nearing its end.

As silly as it sounds, I gently worked a finger under the moth and ladled it into my right hand. There in my hand, I thanked the moth for its contribution to my little four-walled world and the few weeks of nighttime garden pollination while the rest of us slept. Then, after a few minutes, its fluttering ceased. I’m not insane (well, I might be insane — I mean, how would I know), but this just seemed like the right thing to do at that moment. Two minutes of my life, a life I’ve mostly wasted, to offer a tiny bit of comfort to something passing on. Did it know it was being comforted? Science would probably tell me it didn’t, but sometimes science doesn’t fit the moment’s mood. Sometimes, even when your brain says one thing, you let your heart have the wheel for a while.

I know it’s corny. Guess what? I don’t give a shit, because I also know that in my final moments, I hope I’m not alone. I hope that someone is there who cares at least as much as I cared for that moth. Someone who will cradle me, thank me for whatever good I tried to do in life and tell me that everything will be okay. Because, dear reader, our final breath will be just that, regardless of what, if anything, comes after it’s exhaled.