As you know from my last post, Mom died in September of 2018. Our big black boxer Tui started having seizures two months later and died the following March from a presumptive brain tumor. (Presumptive because I said no to Dr. Crazy Canine Neurologist, who advocated spending $3,500 for an MRI to find out for sure so I could then subject him--the dog, not the neurologist--to brain surgery.)
When Dad saw that all was fine, he just stopped pushing. He felt weak on Sunday morning and died the following Saturday, in the early morning hours of my mother's birthday. He spoke his last words to me from a fog midweek. "Be sure to clear away the leaves." From where, Dad? "From the ground."
In October, my stepson and his wife safely delivered a beautiful baby elfin child. She too thrives, happy and loved.
And so now I see what Dorothy Gale saw. People come....people go. Sometimes, its as fast as the Wicked Witch of the East going up in smoke or the Good Witch popping down in her bubble.
I became a Bobbe (Yiddish for Nana/Grandma/Granny/Mom Mom and all that other cockamamie stuff) and an orphan in four weeks. The family I grew up with once was four...and then there was one. My other family, the one facing forward, will have three new babies within 10 months.
Other times, it is only visible out of the rear view mirror. Now, I am the next generation in line to slip away.
Hopefully, without drama.
But it is always happening. I struggled mightily with the tornado as it whirled around me. But now I accept it. In fact, it isn't a tornado, it is the way. The Way. Perhaps my acceptance comes from a daily meditation practice that seems to have at last taken root. Perhaps it comes because once again, the passage of time remains the best cure for what ails ya. I am not going to look a gift of acceptance in the mouth, that's for sure.
Ironically, like Dorothy, Himself and Molly and I are also headed to Kansas. Next month, this beauty comes into our driveway.
Just coming and going.