My Calling
Looking back I can see how it was meant to be. I think I was thirteen years old when my hamster died. It was summertime when the days were so long. My brother and I fought terribly on the long summer days. Just the two of us were home while our mom worked all day.
I found Hammie (my pet hamster) dead when I woke up for the day. I called Mom at work to report the death, unsure what to do. She told me, as she always did, that she was at work and there was nothing she could do until she got home. Hanging up with her, I sat on the couch, thinking, a tear in my eye. My poor beloved Hammie.
After a few minutes of thinking, I had decided exactly how to handle it. I placed his rigid, cold body into a tiny jewelry box I’d emptied out just for this event. I placed a metal cross necklace up against him. Then I placed my latest school picture along with a letter declaring my love in the box with him. I went outside and found a spot underneath a bush and I dug. Once I dug a hole large enough I placed the “casket” in the hole, said a little prayer, and buried Hammie.
Fast forward ten years later, I was twenty-three years old. I was a single mom to a five, three, and one-year-old. I had divorced their father recently and was about to go to college and find a career so I could support my babies. I watched a documentary on a cable channel about a group of Mortuary Science students in…
