One of my earliest memories was in my very first home, we only lived there until I was 4 years old but I remember bits and pieces like it was yesterday. This one, in particular, was a simple life lesson that I learned from my mother.
I was outside playing when I saw something on our front step. It was a mouse and it wasn't moving...in fact, I thought to myself, "it looks hurt". I thought, "what would mom do?" and I ran into my house, grabbed the necessary supplies and then flew back past my mother (whose attention I quickly grabbed) and went back outside to rescue the mouse. I put the band aid neatly over its wound and then I sat with it and "read" one of my books to him. "Read", because I don't believe I actually knew how. My mother came outside as I was tending to the mouse and asked, "Elizabeth, what are you doing?". I simply turned to her and said, "sshhhhh, he's sleeping". In my adult opinion, she very patiently sat with me, because as a mother I probably would have had my daughter in the bathroom with a scrub brush and disinfectant. But, my mother didn't even flinch. She gently explained to me that the mouse had passed away and God had taken him home for a very important job in heaven. We buried this mouse in our backyard and we said a little prayer for him. That was the day that I wanted to become a veterinarian.
I would later learn that these poor mice were actually gifts that our adoring cats brought home to us. One of many truths my brother(s) would cruelly reveal to me.
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