Memorials

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In Loving Memory of Hazel Mae

The Opossum Who Changed the World

By Nina Salem

 

Life with Hazel was nothing short of a dream spun from stardust and soft fur. For the past three years, she was more than a companion—she was a muse, a teacher, a healer, and a living wish granted. Time and time again, I’ve heard it said that meeting Hazel was the best day of someone’s life. That truth echoes in every post, every tearful conversation, every heart she held in her tiny pink hands. Hazel Mae didn’t know strangers—only friends. Someone said that once, and it struck me like lightning. It is the truth, loud and undeniable.

 

Hazel was love in its purest, gentlest form. No words could fully capture her magic. She was a comfort, a light in the dark, a force of softness in a hard world.

 

I owe everything to that little soul. The museum, the sanctuary, the dreams I chased and made real through sleepless nights and scraped-together hope—all of it took root when she arrived. What started as a vision became a reality, and in the heart of that reality was Hazel. A stranger walked through my door one day and changed everything; Nick gave me the greatest gift of my life. Without Hazel, I’m not sure we would have made it through that first year. She wasn’t just special—she was sacred. She was whimsical, elegant, patient, kind, funny, and deeply empathetic. She listened, she soothed, she shlubbed like a champion.

 

One of my biggest regrets is giving her her own room—what I wouldn’t give to wake up one more time to her drooly little snooze curled beside me. Still, I’d sneak in late at night to watch movies with her, her face nestled into my armpit, those perfect little fangs poking out of her cheeks like tiny white moons. She never bit—unless you were a grape or a cockroach.

 

Hazel made magic real. She brought people together in ways I never imagined—through tattoos inked in her likeness, cross-country pilgrimages just to feel her gentle snuggle, and events where the crowd came not for the exhibits, but for her. When we retired her from public life, it felt like tucking away the sun—but we made space for her light to keep shining, with private snuggle appointments and special visits, just for her. She deserved everything good in this world. And she was everything good.

 

She adored flowers, sunbeams, baskets, avocados stolen from my tacos. She held your hand if you cried. She kissed your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. Hazel never judged. She simply loved.

 

Even as a baby, she never strayed. I never had to leash her—she knew she was safe, and she stayed by my side like a heartbeat. That kind of loyalty can’t be trained. It’s earned. It’s shared. It’s divine.

 

A piece of me is gone now, and I don’t know if it will ever return. Hazel didn’t just shape my life—she shaped our lives. She made our sanctuary possible, opened doors to new programs, inspired fundraising that saved countless animals. She was the beating heart of our mission. Her pawprints are on every inch of what we’ve built. And her legacy will guide everything we do from here on out.

 

Answering the phone is the hardest part. I’m used to people asking for her. Not me. 85% of my calls weren’t for Nina—they were for Hazel. And now, the world has to learn she’s gone.

 

But she isn’t really gone. When your animal becomes famous—not for tricks or novelty, but for soul—you get messages from strangers, from countries you’ve never visited, from lives she touched in ways you’ll never fully understand. Over 35,000 people are grieving with me. That’s not loss. That’s impact. That’s immortality.

 

When people ask what I need, I don’t know how to answer. I need time to cry. I need time to breathe. I need time to honor her.

 

The last photo I have with Hazel is a tintype I finally took last month at the Oddities Flea Market. I’d said for years I’d get one. In the photo, she pooped on me (classic Hazel), she smiled, she wiggled, she radiated joy. I remember thinking, “I need this one moment, just in case there’s no tomorrow.” And I’m so grateful I did. That photo is everything now.

 

I wish I had taken more photos. I wish I had one more hour with her in my lap. But the truth is, she wasn’t just mine. Hazel was everyone’s. And she always will be.

 

My sweet Hazel Mae. You were, and forever will be, the most magical creature I’ve ever known.