By: Marsha Burdick
One evening when my children were quite small, as I put the lamb chops on the table, I thought to myself, “I can’t eat this. This is someone’s child.” A picture of a frisky little white fluffy lamb by its mother’s side came to my mind, and I knew that eating it was wrong.
In the nearly thirty years since that day, I have had no desire to consume meat. I couldn’t have told you then where the thought came from, and I didn’t explore the source of that inspiration, but there was no question in my heart that my life changed in that moment and there was no going back.
Perhaps the seed of the idea was planted when I was but a toddler. As the youngest child of four, during my early years I was my mother’s shadow on a small family acreage in Idaho. She adored animals and each spring would quietly sit in the pasture watching the newborn calves until they would approach her and allow her to pet them. I learned how to gain their trust as well, but she warned me not to give them a name because she knew that would form an attachment leading to problems on the day they were sent to butcher. It was not uncommon to see her sitting near the trough and talking to the pigs while they ate, or clucking to the chickens as she gathered the eggs. I am sure this example of love for animal life contributed to my sensitivity to consuming flesh later on.
My mother was not blessed with strength; she could not run without becoming weary, in fact, there were many days that she did not have the power to even hold up her head above her shoulders because she was burdened with a terrible disease. At the time of my birth, the doctors did not expect her to be able to raise me, giving her three years at best. Nevertheless, her life, though weak, extended well into my teenage years.
By: Leilani Gómez
