Ladybug Heaven

[I wrote this a few years ago in our first house]

Do ladybugs see a bright light when they meet their end? They certainly do in the moments leading up to it.

Every autumn, these red helmet insects descend upon our home and live there for a few weeks before it gets too cold. They crawl on every surface, pretending to look for an exit. But, these intruders don’t fool me. It’s clear that they are pacing, reflecting on their short lives, before they die, fall to the floor, and stick to my slippers each morning.

Apparently, the bathroom is a fun place to live for these few weeks, for many of them congregate there. Although I am uncertain of their activities in the dark, they become quite distracted when the lights go on, forgetting everything to wander towards the light. Perhaps stories of near-death experiences have led them to believe that the light represents the path to ladybug heaven? I think they are quite disappointed when they find out that the stories are wrong. In fact, they are quite angry when they realize that the bare light bulb onto which they just mindlessly crawled is clearly hotter than the sun’s surface, which they have also heard stories about. This disappointment results in displaced anger as the ladybugs then fly berserk about the room, ramming their bodies into the light bulb with great force. I can’t imagine that this is helpful, unless they desperately want the light to literally represent their ultimate destiny.

Recently, I discovered that one hearty ladybug is still boarding in our bathroom. It lives on, despite many obstacles: reckless flying, extreme heat, natural death, and hairspray. The bug spends most of her time on the window, keeping her feet cool. But, occasionally when the boredom is even too much for this bug to handle, she indulges in her favorite pastime on the vanity lights.

In light of my obvious affection for these annual visitors, one might be surprised to know that I have a tremendous bug phobia. Actually, I am most effected by the bugs that I imagine are climbing up my back or landing on my head. I cannot walk in the woods without swatting imaginary bugs that climb up my back and land on my head. My flailing arms are more justified, and result in less laughter from family members, when I can see the bug landing on me.

I come closest to my own death when my early morning companion attempted again to accomplish the impossible landing while I was shaving. This morning ritual became nearly fatal when she landed on my forehead while in mid-trajectory towards the vanity. Her timing, however, was quite unfortunate for me as my bug-swatting hand was wielding a razor. The gash on my face was a week long reminder of my persistent housemate.

She still lives with me. She is old now and her friends have all passed. In the past few days, she couldn’t even bring herself to fly. I have wondered if our early morning light ritual is now a sad reminder to her. Therefore, I shave in the dark so as not to be the source of any ladybug disappointment.

I imagine that my friend will leave this earth soon. In the meantime, I wonder if there is a lesson to be learned. Perhaps we should all follow our instincts, set a goal, and be relentless in achieving that goal. That is, unless we reach our goal and burn our feet, in which case we should leave immediately and try again tomorrow.