I Buried a Dead Body

This past Saturday, the sun was shining and light breeze was floating through the window. How it managed to float through a very dense bush and down a small cement wall before reaching my basement window is a complete mystery but I was rather grateful for it. With my homework completed, I grabbed my sandals and went for a walk around campus. On my third round past the activities field, I noticed something small gleaming with reflected sunlight. I walked past it, thinking it was trash someone had left. What with our college hosting a basketball tournament, a lot of trash was being left around by visitors who had no respect for our campus rules on litter. Then something hit me: grey fur. I turned around and found to my surprise, a  full grown mole lying face down. I stood there for a few seconds wondering if he was afraid to move because of me or if he was dead. Then it hit me that he would have made a run for it by now if he could. From what I could tell, there were no wounds on his back, and his stomach was laying on the ground. He could have not have been there long, for there were no flies or any other sort of insect eating at him. "Oh, baby" I hear myself whisper. "I'm so sorry." I stood up and made a dash back to my room. Once there I grabbed five tissues and, for lack of a better option, a fork. No I did not eat the mole. I went back to the activities field, and noticed mole tunnels through the grass leading up to their owner's little body. Gently, I picked up the mole's body with the tissues. I had to cup him in both hands and stick the fork in my back pocket. Yet despite that he seemed so small and fragile. His body was limp and warm from the sunshine. His tiny white nose reached my fingertips and his perfect little tail rubbed against my wrist through the tissues. He was full grown, but to me he was as miniscule as a pen cap and as breakable as a glass figure. Ever so carefully I carried him to the cliff behind the library and ducked back behind some trees. Using the fork I dug a small little grave and paused. The mole lay on his back, velvet grey fur highlighted against the white tissues. There were no wounds on his front either. A blood covered tongue hanging out of his mouth was the only sign that he hadn't died a natural death. Chances are his little neck was broken by a predator before he died. With the greatest of care not to squeeze or damage him, I picked my little friend up with my bare hand. His fur was soft, so much softer than the silky belly of our family cats. His miniscule little white paws were perfectly formed and as endearing to me as the fingers of a new born babe. Once again I was struck by how small he was in comparison to me. Is this how small and fragile we seem to Abba? In a physical world where we are the largest, most powerful creature it can be easy to forget just how tiny and fragile we truly are. This past Saturday I remembered. In Abba's eyes I am no bigger than a mole, but I am loved with a fierceness that surpasses the compassion I felt for my smaller fellow creature at that moment. I sat there for a few seconds and stroked brother mole's fur lightly, putting it all in place as I hummed a small song and talked to him. I apologized for the shallow grave in a rocky earth that no mole would dig in. I couldn't bury him in the field where he had lived, not without getting caught and most likely in trouble for ruining the field where college students played Frisbee and had picnics. I apologized that he had to die right when the weather was starting to get nice and when he had just come out of hibernation. I described the trees, the view of the river below, the birds and the lack of college sounds to him. Then I laid him in his new home face down, as if he was tilling the soil beneath his paws once again, and covered him with the rather loose dark earth. It wasn't much, and in some ways I felt like Antigone, who just sprinkled earth over her brother. No doubt the wind and rain would blow the earth off and leave my poor friend open to the elements again. I offered a prayer for him, that he hadn't suffered, that his grave wouldn't be disturbed, and that I was grateful he was back with his creator. I asked for a chance to see him again when the whole world is restored. It isn't just humanity Abba wants to restore, it is all of creation, even the trees and moles. I wonder if my little mole will look any different when he is restored, will I recognize him? The chapel bell tolled as I stood up again, as if it was tolling for the death of my little brother. I wonder if it will toll for me when the time comes.  I do know part of my prayer for Mr. Mole was answered: it snowed the next day and the ground was frozen solid. He will rest undisturbed for a while longer. I can only hope the same is true for me when I am buried in the earth where the moles will make me welcome....that sounded much more morbid than I planed it to be.