It was 4am when I awoke from a deep sleep—one filled with terrible dreams. As I checked my phone and discovered the time, I tried to go back to sleep and not think too much on the dreams I was having… That’s when it happened.
I was lying on my back with my eyes closed and was startled by a noise above my head coming from my sliding glass door. I couldn’t tell what it was, but there were sporadic clicking and scratching sounds. When I turned, I saw something dark crawling on my wall by my air conditioner and immediately thought ROACH.
I sprang up and must have scared it because it jumped from one part of the wall to another. I turned on the light and found it was not a cockroach, but rather a huge grasshopper.
That’s when it dawned on me… My roommate and I had made breakfast for dinner (cinnamon french toast and bacon), one piece of bacon was burnt, filling our house with smoke and setting off the alarm; so, naturally, we opened all the windows and doors to air out our apartment. A friend came over for dinner, and we all got carried away eating and talking, and we didn’t even realize that our front door was left open for hours on end. Later that night, my roommate discovered a ginormous grasshopper in our living room (everything in Saipan is bigger) and tried her best to get it out, but its spastic behavior only caused us to be jumpy and leave it hidden somewhere inside our curtain. It somehow got into my room in the middle of the night.
I was afraid. Who knows why. Grasshoppers are totally harmless. I think its unpredictability freaked me out and my tiredness was disorienting, so I barely considered my options in getting rid of it. I hastily thought of grabbing a shoe to kill it, which is exactly what I did. I hit it two times, and it fell to the ground. I watched it sitting there in the corner of my room as its legs slowly sank—its delicate body emptying of life. Using a paper towel, I picked it up and threw it away, and I couldn’t contain my emotions; I was overcome with sadness and started bawling.
Why did I kill it? I should have just caught it and put it back outside. I didn’t even think about that as being an option. Why?
Fear is a funny thing.
For whatever reason, I was afraid of this giant grasshopper and the only logical decision I could make at 4am was to smash it and toss it away like it was nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing. It was a beautiful creature—wild and intricate—wonderfully made with purpose. And I mercilessly killed it. The regret came instantly. I wept for almost an hour after that, and I had to forgive myself for my act of foolishness, even over something that to most others probably seems insignificant and quite honestly comical.
It wasn’t the grasshopper’s fault that we left the door to our apartment wide open. It was basically an open invitation to make himself at home. He had no idea that it would be his last night alive and hopping—that I would kill him.
Sometimes I make foolish choices, and others are hurt, and I am hurt, and it is usually based on fear.
Take my ex-boyfriend (we’ll call him Leo). It was similar with Leo. I let him into a personal place without truly thinking, and he felt at home in my heart, and then I broke him. For a long time, I hated myself because of it, but then I realized through this experience that I had to forgive myself and use this as a reminder to be more careful in the future.
I was so upset about the death of this innocent grasshopper because it reminded me that people are of even greater value and deserve to be treated with love and respect. I could have let Leo down much easier than I did and been a whole lot more understanding when I broke his heart, just like I could have captured the grasshopper in a basket and set it free outside.
Grace and gentleness are things I will probably be forever learning.
I don’t leave my door open anymore, and every time I find a grasshopper I take a moment to appreciate it and the life lesson its kind has taught me.
Advertisements Share this:Excerpt from “The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean —
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth
instead of up and down —
who is gazing around with her enormous
and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms
and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
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