Benny the Bumblebee

How my ADHD accidentally killed a bumblebee... Twice.

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I genuinely love tiny creatures.

Ladybugs? Adorable.

Bees? Essential.

Bumblebees? Basically flying teddy bears.

So when I spotted one floating helplessly in my garden pool, I sprang into action.

This was no longer gardening. This was an emergency.

I carefully lifted the soggy little fluffball out of the water and placed him in the warm afternoon sun. He looked absolutely exhausted, but every now and then I’d convince myself I saw the tiniest movement.

That was it. I was fully committed. This was now personal.

Every few minutes I abandoned whatever I was doing just to check on him.

Still breathing?

Did that little leg just move?

Was he looking slightly less dead than five minutes ago?

I had somehow become the head nurse of the world’s smallest intensive care unit.

My husband walked past and asked, “You’re checking on that bee again?”

“He’s making progress,” I said.

“He hasn’t moved.”

“That’s because you’re not paying enough attention.”

I was. Very much.

This is the thing about ADHD. When something grabs my attention, it grabs all of it. For the next hour, my entire personality became “bumblebee nurse.”

Eventually... success.

First came a tiny twitch. Then a little stretch. Before long, he was actually crawling.

I was ridiculously proud of him.

Against all odds, I’d saved this tiny little life.

As it started getting dark, I remembered that bumblebees don’t really fly around at night. So I found him the perfect place to rest. A flower pot. Sheltered, hidden, and surrounded by blossoms.

Honestly, if Airbnb had a category for recovering bumblebees, this would’ve been a five-star stay.

I went inside feeling like David Attenborough.

At some point, I had even given him a name.

Benny.

Don’t judge me.

My ADHD had already skipped several chapters ahead. I had watched far too many YouTube videos of people rescuing tiny animals that kept coming back to visit them out of gratitude.

Somewhere in my mind, Benny and I were already lifelong friends. I imagined him returning every summer, hovering around me while I watered the flowers. I would casually tell visitors, “Oh, that’s just Benny.” They would be amazed. We would probably end up on YouTube ourselves.

I know... Again, don’t judge me.

Anyway, the next morning I stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep, making coffee. Out of nowhere, little Benny popped into my head.

I smiled.

I wondered how my little patient was doing.

Coffee forgotten, I walked straight into the garden to check on my tiny patient.

He was lying dead beside the flower pot.

I was genuinely upset.

How?

I had rescued him. I had protected him. I had practically become his emotional support human.

The poor little guy.

I spent hours wondering what had happened.

Nature can be cruel, I thought.

Then, somewhere around lunchtime, my ADHD casually handed me back a memory I had apparently misplaced.

“...Oh no.”

The night before… after lovingly tucking my recovering patient into his floral recovery suite...

...I had gone back outside.

I had grabbed the garden hose.

I had happily watered every flower pot in the garden.

Every. Single. One.

Including Benny’s.

I had completely forgotten he was there.

So after heroically rescuing him from drowning… I accidentally drowned him again.

There was a long silence. Then I did what any reasonable person would do…

I apologized to a dead bumblebee.

Rest in peace, little Benny.

You survived the swimming pool. You survived near death. You survived my intensive care. You never stood a chance against my garden hose.

Wildlife should probably stop trusting me.

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