A dead spider lay on my window sill. Legs shrivelled into an octopus like bundle, dead body at the top still holding them all together. I thought about throwing it in the bin or using my Dyson handheld to hoover it up so I don’t have to make any contact, but I can’t bring myself to tackle either option. This isn’t a bit of stray crisp packet or a few scraps of thread from a piece of clothing. It was a living thing and now it is dead. I wanted to honour it’s tiny life and so I decided to give it a funeral.
I’m considering training as a Celebrant, so this would be my chance to try out conducting a service. I’d probably opt for weddings, not funerals. Not because I’m fearful about addressing death – it could even be an outlet for my obsessive thoughts on the subject. It’s more that I can’t quite face the idea of the crematorium being my place of work. Also, I doubt I’d be able to keep my composure and an overly emotional celebrant wouldn’t do, but for the spider I’ll make an exception.
The first draft of my service went as follows: Dear Fellow wildlife, here we are, ready to say farewell to this spider. This spider, who may or may not have had a spider name, now lays here to rest. I can’t say what kind of life it lived, or for how long. I can’t say if it gave birth to or fathered children. We can’t know how this spider came to pass on somewhere between 20-26 January 2020, and we need to let go of any hope of ever really knowing. May you rest in peace little spider.
Not bad for a first go. But maybe something a bit snappier would be more appropriate given the scale of the service. Something like ‘Hey Lady Nature, incoming!’. It was at this point I noticed that I had lost the spider.
I’d blown it away with my hairdryer, which shoots through my hair and directly onto the window sill. For a while I couldn’t seem to risk looking and not finding it, but when I finally did, I spotted it straight away. It was as if it wanted to found, keen to have this farewell – keen to not end up in a hoover.
I decided on a small Tupperware pot to transport the spider to its resting place. I didn’t decorate the pot, it just seemed a step too far. I felt incredibly sad, but wasn’t sure if I hadn’t woken feeling this way.
So l took the spider to Fleet Pond – a beautiful place of nature not far from my home. A place where it may have had a happier and better life. Perhaps it originally lived at the pond and lost its way, ending up on my window sill.
I picked a leaf to lay it on so I could place it in the pond rather than to tip it straight in. I put the leaf in the ground and tapped the spider out from the Tupperware (it stuck a little at first which brought me back to my non-Celebrant status and a cringy shudder escaped me). I’d chosen a picturesque jetty to release the spider, but there were lots of ducks, birds and swans milling around – it’s a regular feeding spot and my presence signals food. But I didn’t want one of them to immediately eat the spider, not because it’d spoil anything but if I see it, I’ll imagine what it’s like to eat the spider. Of course now I’ve said it I’ve imagined it and you may have too, sorry.
Nature intervened and a sudden breeze blew the spider off the leaf and into the pond. I watched as it drifted under the jetty instead of out into the vast pond, wanting desperately to waft it back out so it’s final journey could be an idyllic and poignant one. Slipping under the jetty even at a ceremony felt unceremonious. But maybe it suited the spider, perhaps it was an introvert and was a little embarrassed by all the fuss. I felt disappointed but realised – and it won’t be the last time – that this wasn’t about me. As I walked away I realised I’d forgotten to conduct the service.
“Dear Mother Nature” I said to myself as I walked away. “I return this spider to your care, may you receive it back into the circle of life and may you – tiny spider – rest in peace.”
I’m happier with this brief but respectful selection of words, and I conduct my first funeral tear-free which is a promising start.
I know this may all sound a tad mad. According to popular belief, I’ve probably unknowingly killed and even eaten a few dozen insects in my life, so why make a fuss over one spider. Funerals after all are about us saying farewell to someone, the ceremony more about us coming to terms with our loss. I didn’t feel any loss over the spider and I doubt anyone else did – but maybe that’s reason enough.