05/15/2026
This is my first Opossum funeral, so I guess a eulogy seems appropriate.
Parsley changed a lot of minds about opossums, but I don’t really want to talk about that right now.
I want to talk about who she was.
She was gentle. The kind of gentle you only understand once you’ve held it in your hands.
She explored the world nose first, slow and curious, like everything deserved a closer look. Her tiny ears would twitch at every sound. Every blanket had to be tested. Every corner inspected. Every soft bed claimed as if she had personally discovered comfort itself.
She walked on her wheel at the pace of an elderly woman window shopping at a garden center, and somehow it was the cutest thing any of us had ever seen.
When she first arrived, she survived almost entirely on fruit pouches and dog food because apparently she had the palate of a stubborn toddler. Eventually she branched out to cherry tomatoes, fresh fish, and the occasional vegetable when she felt like making healthy choices. Roma tomatoes, however, offended her deeply and personally.
But what I’ll remember most is the way she looked at the world.
There was so much softness in her. So much wonder. She looked at life like it was still worth being curious about.
And maybe that sounds silly to say about an opossum, but anyone who truly knew Parsley understands exactly what I mean.
She wasn’t “just” an opossum. She was a soul. A funny, sweet, strange little being full of light and warmth and quiet joy.
I know there are other opossums out there just as wonderful as she was. But how lucky was I that this one found me.
How lucky was I to know her.
I think a lot of people go their whole lives without ever getting the privilege of being loved by a creature like Parsley. And I got to wake up every day and experience her tiny existence beside mine.
What a gift that was.
Run slow in the next life, sweet girl 🤍
