An Ant Bit my butt!!

Tragedy, comedy, and pest control

I’m in the middle of telling a friend something heavy. We’re sitting on my couch, chatting on a hot LA day. The heat brings with it some unwanted guests at my house: ants.

When I was a kid, I remember waking up some mornings to find a parade of them marching from a crack in the kitchen wall straight to a loaf of bread or a few forgotten crumbs. I’d squeal for my mom like it was a full-blown emergency. At the time, it absolutely was.

Now I can’t help but admire the lengths they’ll go to just to carry a microscopic grain of rice across the floor. The commitment. The fortitude.

I’m telling my friend that an extended family member is in the hospital, and I talk about how it triggers me. Because of course it does.

The air is thick with what I’m sharing. I can feel the grief pressing down on both of us. There’s a pause, and I think he’s about to say something comforting, as he usually does. But what comes out of his mouth next is not a sentence I ever could have anticipated in this delicate moment.

“An ant bit my butt!”

A look of panic flashes across his face.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud! I swear I’m listening. It’s just, an ant literally bit my butt! I just blurted it out at the worst possible moment. I’m so sorry!”

For a second, I’m stunned out of my sadness. Then I burst out laughing. We both do. But it only takes about twenty seconds for my laugh to twist into a silent sob. I cover my face, trying not to show that I’ve somehow reached the depths of my sorrow so fast. I went from introspective grief talk, to shock, to hysterical laughter, to sobbing, all in under a minute.

Sorrow really is the only word for moments like that. “Sad” never cuts it.

Sorrow feels like desperate, never-ending sadness. The kind that starts in the soles of your feet and climbs through your chest, vast and cavernous. That’s what that silent sob felt like.

And still, in the middle of it, I had a flicker of gratitude. I didn’t ask for this sorrow, but it’s given me the ability to feel more deeply than I ever could before. I think of it like parenthood. It cracks you open, softens you, and destroys you in the best and worst ways.

Lately, I feel like the ant. Moving slowly. Carrying something small and precious. Not trying to conquer the field, just trying to make it across.

Losing my husband did that too.

Somehow, I’ve managed to uninvite bitterness from the party, for the most part. But sorrow is here to stay.

She’s the one who makes joy mean more. The reason flowers feel miraculous after the rain.

And I want the flowers.

Of course, I didn’t at first. Who could?

So, I let my friend see me cry. Because it feels important not to hide it. To let laughter come with tears, however messy it looks.

Sometimes I get embarrassed. Sometimes I own it. Sometimes it’s less lonely to cry with a friend.

And sometimes, an ant bites your butt.

I guess that’s life now.

Equal parts tragedy, comedy, and pest control.