Who Cares?

Grief and ritual for roadkill

You were laying in the middle of the road. I almost changed the direction of my walk when I saw you. Not because your mangled squirrel body made me queasy or that you were “gross” like I heard a nearby walker say, but because the sight of you made me sad. I imagine someone — a mate, a child, a mother, a tree — is missing you. There will be an empty nest tonight.

Photo by Shane Young on Unsplash

A child growing up in Western Massachusetts, I honored dead rabbits, birds, squirrels and snakes by picking wildflowers to place on their still, cold bodies. In autumn, I covered them with leaves or put them in a nook that felt right. Ritual and grieving was a natural impulse, I felt that they needed to be honored and seen. A grandchild of physicians, I knew enough about germs not to touch these creatures. I used sticks, tree bark and other found objects to move them. I just wanted to give them a ceremonial goodbye.

Usually, these small ceremonies were private affairs. Just me, the woods and the animal. But sometimes I came across a dead creature while playing with friends and when I suggested such a ceremony I was told it was gross or that I was a weirdo. But the urge to honor the animal was stronger than the temporary sting of being ridiculed. I picked flowers, gathered leaves and persisted, almost in a kind of trance.

Photo by Eirik Olsen on Unsplash

Many people assume other animals don’t grieve when their child, mate or pack member dies. But that is not true. When a mother chimpanzee loses a child, she might carry and groom them for several days, even until the child is no longer recognizable. Dr. Mark Bekoff from the University of Colorado studied four magpies who reacted to a deceased magpie by placing grass on top of the body, pecking them gently, and standing around as though holding vigil¹. Elephants honor deceased family and friends by scattering their bones, raising a foot over the dead and covering them with dirt, leaves and tree branches². There are countless examples.

Photo by Ana Paula Grimaldi on Unsplash

When I drove to New York City recently, there was a disturbing number of dead animals on the road. Among them, a gorgeous fox and a creature that looked eerily like a bear cub. Maybe the creature was a porcupine, I don’t know. I just saw feet face up on the side of the road as I drove by. The image still haunts me. A natural death feels different — whether eaten by a predator or simply exhausted of their life energy, at least they were able to live their lives in the wild way they were meant to. Instead of being killed by a human rushing to work. Humans have fractured wild habitats and too many highways are devoid of migration corridors³: tunnels, bridges and other safe passages that enable species to travel, access resources for survival, and adapt to changing landscapes.

In bed after the traumatic drive to New York City, unable to shake the image of the fox, I asked my partner if we could say a prayer for him or her. He started and we went back and forth, sentence by sentence: 

“Dear fox, I’m sorry you didn’t make it to where you were going.”

“I hope you didn’t suffer too much. I’m sure that it was very scary seeing cars coming toward you so fast.”

“I hope you didn’t leave a family behind. If you did, I hope they are able to move on without you.”

“I wish we could bury you and honor you in the way that you deserve. I could tell, even in that brief moment, that you were loved.” 

“Yes, you were beautiful. A gorgeous coat, lush tail, beautiful black boots. I know there are those that miss you now.”

“I’m sorry that humans have set the world up this way, making it harder for you. I hope that you are free and fulfilled wherever you are now.” 

“We love you.” 

1. https://www.theregister.com/2009/10/21/magpie_funerals/

2. https://www.clocktimelesspets.com/2017/09/02/elephants-share-empathy-emotions-grief-rituals/

3. https://www.treehugger.com/why-wild-animals-need-wildlife-corridors-4867686