Stockholm

I miss my torturers. Today, after 10 days, the bees are done. I tried. I tried to find a way to make them move along. I talked to every bee rescue service listed. I had friends call friends who called friends who hooked me up with Betsy the Beekeeper. I read the web sites. Vince from work went up and almost fell off the roof to try to help. I hoped beyond hope that they were moving away instead of in. I liberated all that could still fly who came into the living room. Every day for the last 10 days I had at least 15 bees come through. Day after day. Bee after bee. I disposed of the dead and liberated the living.

But in the end . . . in the end . . . today . . . I caved. I knew they couldn't stay. I didn't want to spend thousands of dollars ripping apart the bricks of the chimney to save them. I couldn't. I can't. I can't afford to. So, I chose the other option -- because I couldn't do it anymore . . . I couldn't keep moving them along. I couldn't keep picking up the dead. I couldn't keep emptying the candles and sweeping off the sills. I caved knowing that their honey may just seep and seep into the nether regions of my house and destroy it. I caved and I'm sorry I caved, but they wore me down. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't live with my torturers anymore.

They are now entombed in the chimney.

I know. It's horrible.

The whole hive. All those bees. They are all in there, sealed in. Trapped now and dead. Subject to whatever a bar of Prozap Junior could do.

Those out working at the time are still coming down the chimney and flying around the top, wondering. I'm hoping by tomorrow they stop. I'll pretend they flew away and joined another hive, safe in a tree trunk or a box in someone's yard. But always, deep down, I'll know they just died. Died without their Queen.

Oh, man.

What kind of karma does this bring? I have entombed a village to death. I killed the honey bees.

I'm so sorry. I'm so damn sorry that you chose here and I couldn't do what it would take to suck you out and move you.

I'm just so sorry.

May you lie gracefully in your chimney tomb . . . Know that I am trying to recognize the honey of life and do the impossible. If I get a chance, I'll even have some sex in your honor.

May you all rest in peace.