The Time I Held Death

As a kid, I didn't quite yet understand the meaning behind what is life and what is death. But I remember the event that opened my eyes to it.

I was six, and like any other kid back in 1998, I was always dirty, curious, and covered in bruises. My adventure was always outside. There was never a day that went by where I wasn't playing in my backyard, examining plants, or digging a hole to learn where it led.

Such simpler times.

There was nothing special about that day. Then again, to a six-year-old, the only things considered special were Disneyland, camping, or doing some other wild activity. No, on this day I was in my backyard, climbing the familiar Valley Oak tree that seemed to tower over my house. It was my favorite spot to be. I felt like I could see the entire world from up there.

It was summer in California, so the day was hot and bright. My little sister (almost 4) was below me, playing with her Polly Pockets. She always wanted my company, but she was too young and not as courageous to climb the tree. Though, I wouldn't let her anyway. She was my baby sister, and my big sister instincts to protect her were always present. Even to this day.

A unique relevant detail about our yard that I'd never seen in other yards, was these large pure-white boulders that piled under our tree. It was a busy spot, for there were little lizards who'd come to bask, me to investigate, and my little sister to pretend it was her Polly Pocket's castle. On a hot day like this one, sometimes we'd compete over who got to use the rocks.

Well, I decided to give the rocks to my sister and went into my tree. I don't know how long I was up there. I always lost track of time when I went into this seemingly unreachable world. But then a scream cut through the air. The sound was sharp and shrill, making the hairs on my body stand, and I knew instantly it belonged to my sister.

I peered down from my branch to see her shaking her hands like she was trying to get something off of her. She was crying and throwing a little fit of fear and as I said, I was protective.

I then saw what was causing her distress. A dark lizard had jumped onto her and was climbing all over her. She was wearing a little pink tank top, so I could see faint scratches on her porcelain skin that the little reptile was leaving behind as it clung to her. (I say little, but as far as California lizards go, this was a pretty decently sized one, especially in comparison to her).

I started scrambling down the tree to help her when it jumped from her shoulder onto the boulder. Without even thinking, I broke a branch off the tree and threw it at the lizard. Remember, I was a kid. My intent was to scare it off so it wouldn't hurt my baby sister again. I didn't think I even had good aim. But the branch struck the lizard... and I had not yet realized that it was a fatal blow.

I watched as both the branch and lizard fell to the next white rock. The lizard didn't move, and by now my little sister had run inside the house to get our mom. So I finished climbing down the tree, waiting for the lizard to come to its senses and retreat like they always did. But it didn't.

Not when I placed my foot down on the rock above it. Not when I reached down, and not when I picked it up to hold it. It still didn't move.

I remember this next part clearly, as I'd never felt anything like it before. This twisting, sinking sensation that started in my stomach and then climbed all the way up my throat. It was uncomfortable and heavy. It made me sick and I didn't like it.

Now that I'm older, I know that feeling I had is called dread.

As my throat grew tighter and tighter, my eyes began to sting then water. I didn't understand why I was crying, or why I began to hate myself for throwing the stick. The lizard jumped off. I should've just left it alone. But I reacted impulsively, and it cost the poor creature its life.

Remorse. That was what I felt next. And it was consuming. I thought I was evil for killing something that I knew to be harmless. Its behavior toward my sister wasn't an attack. It wasn't going to truly hurt her. But in the moments while she was screaming, panic overcame me and I couldn't properly think.

Actions have consequences, my mother said to me once she came outside to see what had happened.

She tried to take the lizard from me, but I cried and screamed at her not to. I needed to mourn. I needed its forgiveness. I needed it to hate me and for her to call me a monster because that was what it had felt like.

I cried for a long time as I held it against my chest. At first, it was for the thought that it'd never move again. It'd never scamper away from me or do those cute little push-up things. It'd never be there in the mornings when I'd come out to play, already soaking up the sun. Then I cried because I was angry. Angry that I had taken something so precious from the earth, and there was no way I could return it.

Darkness corrupted my world as those realizations sunk in, and I vowed to myself I'd do my best to make amends and atone for this atrocity I committed against it.

... Twenty-one years later, the memory still haunted me. Although I never hurt another animal again, I didn't feel like I atoned for its death. In fact, I felt like I owed every creature for my sins, and thus I began to repent in the only way I thought I could. I turned that guilt towards my studies and obtained a zoology degree. But it wasn't just the biology field. I focused on animal welfare, medicine, nutrition, and anything that influenced an animal's survival. For two years during my studies, I worked at a learning sanctuary and took care of injured, sick, and geriatric animals. There were healthy animals too, but I found myself drawn to those who were in desperate need of critical care.

Now, I have my degree, and I've worked with a variety of animals. From reptiles to birds. Cats to Hyenas. Rodents to primates. Goats to Rhinos. Anything in the world, you name it, I've probably taken care of it.

I'm only in the shallow waters of my career, but I plan on swimming through the ocean. I saved many lives and I'll continue to save more.

... All because a little lizard wanted his time on a rock.