Hermit Crabs.
Episode 58.
I pulled the last piece of scotch tape from the plastic dispenser and affixed it to the light blue construction paper, pinning it to the wall in the hallway of our Cape Cod vacation house. This was an official MISSING sign, complete with reward of $5 for the location of my pet hermit crab, Harry. If there were a way for me to put his image on a milk carton, I would have paid the rest of my hard-earned chore money to do so. These were desperate times.
Harry had a green shell. You would think a very striking victory for the search and rescue efforts, amidst the beige low-pile carpet that spanned the ranch house. But Harry had been lost for a full day; since we had released all 3 pets from the plastic tank for "races". I don't know how I let him leave my sight, and as I recall beckoning him, "Harry, come back, Harry", I do not remember the significance of the name Harry to my 10 year old self... "Harry Hermit Crab"? Seems to lack creativity and weight from my imaginative mind. But, 32 years later, my memory is solid that the crab was granted the name of Harry.
My mom had named her hermit crab Norway, symbolic of the SS-Norway cruise ship that had been a recent and last vacation with my dad. I cringed when she announced the name, not because I didn't think it was cute- I liked the name- but because any notion of my mom missing my dad or being sad, strickened my little body and mind. My sister had named her crab Ramie, after a Cabbage Patch Kids song (of which I do remember every word right now, although I have not heard it since it was playing on our record player). Ramie had a glossy striped shell and Lindsey had picked her out as the "only girl" from the selection of other hermit crabs in the large tank at the pet store. Yes, these crabs were actually purchased at a pet store.
For years down the Cape, we had spent our beach afternoons hunting for hermit crabs, filling plastic pails with so many of the little guys, that they would be crawling upon each other, a moving pack of spindly legs and peeking eyeballs; the pails getting so heavy that carrying them back to the towel would contort the flimsy plastic handle precariously, threatening to slosh the salt water from their makeshift aquarium. We used nets and our bare hands to grab the little guys. It was not a difficult catch, but we beamed with pride and success hauling a full bucket back to the grown ups to inspect the bounty of crustaceans.
As our summer Cape vacation was coming to a close in 1989, my mom spontaneously, and likely mildly impulsively, pulled into the small pet shop in Orleans, announcing that we were finally going to get a pet.
"A dog!!" Lindsey announced confidently from the back seat, her pigtails swinging rapidly as a smile seized over her 8-year old face.
"Not a dog." My mom uttered immediately.
I was silent. I was feeling the weight of the 3 of us in the Buick station wagon. The absence of my dad was palpable and more oppressive than the humidity of the late August afternoon. The day-long sighs from my mom, heavy with grief, now turned into a well-meaning attempt to lighten the day with a random pit-stop at the pet store, before facing another vacation dinner with the void of my dad looming over us.
"Hermies!" My mom exclaimed. "To bring back to New Jersey...we will get a little tank and colored sand..."
Ok, so she sold me. We unbuckled and jumped out of the car; our jellies sandals still residing on the floor of the backseat and our bare feet scorching on the pavement; leaving my mom to sling her pocketbook across her body and manually lock the car doors.
Harry and Norway and Ramie were officially Ackermans. We initiated them with races across the linoleum kitchen floor and gave them a first meal of smelly pellets. They were everything a pet owner could desire; well, except for the cuddle feature.
For 2 days, I was a proper hermit crab owner. But now, timing was critical, as this was our last night before the big "pack up" and drive home to New Jersey, with only back-to-school shopping to check off our list as a summer grand finale.
But I would not leave without Harry, I had proclaimed multiple times that day, despite the sinking feeling that Harry really was gone for good, and that my mom would not stay at the Cape to await his return. The reward signs were posted in anticipation of my Aunt Tina, Uncle Jim, and cousin Meghann coming for our last Cape dinner of the summer. But even before their arrival, my mom was calling out, "I found him!"- pointing at the emerald green shell moving at pace across the baby blue bath mat of our bathroom.
Harry the Hermit Crab went on to live an abundant life with his pals, Ramie and Norway. The trio will forever be remembered as cheering us up on some dismal days. And, when they were no longer for this world, they were replaced by another shelled-pet, an upgrade from the crustaceans to the Chinese Box Turtle, Whitney Houston-Ackerman....
Sharing is Caring... Memories of Ackerman Pets...
With Love,
Jessica
“For in every adult there dwells the child that was, and in every child there lies the adult that will be.” – John Connolly
"Take care of all your memories. For you cannot relive them." -Bob Dylan
“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.”
― Rumi
“Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place.”
― Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever
“Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
Do it all with Love. Nothing is promised. But everything is workable.
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