"My, people come and go so quickly here..."

Those were the words of that great Kansas philosopher, Dorothy Gale. She muttered it in Munchkinland but, based on my last year or so, I now accept it as a sound Principle of Life.

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.)

My daughter and her husband safely delivered my gorgeous grandson Ezra in July and he thrives, happy and loved. I tried to upload a video because I know you have never seen adorable babies before, but Blogger says the file is too big. I'm sure they offer a workaround for Martin Scorsese or Woody Allen, but all I can do is give you this Ewok in its place.

One month later, my 92-year-old father died. I know now that he worked as hard as he could to stay alive without my mother, who was his light. He pushed and pushed through the strangulating effects of Parkinson's on his physical ability and his mental clarity. He pushed until he could see that his beloved granddaughter and her new son were fine and that I had a clear mastery of and full legal access to his estate. Despite the fact that, to his lifelong chagrin, I am no better at math now than I was in fifth grade.

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." 

My daughter and her new family left for the funeral. She and the baby headed to Detroit. Her husband headed to Wisconsin. His grandfather, the man who helped make my son-in-law the spectacular man that he is, died one day after my dad.

In October, my stepson and his wife safely delivered a beautiful baby elfin child. She too thrives, happy and loved.

One week later, little Ezra and little A's auntie, my stepdaughter, announced that HER son will be arriving at the end of May!

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.

Our own Airstream! When it comes, we will go. To the Black Hills of South Dakota, via the Oregon Trail and whatever else strikes our fancy. No deadlines, no reservations.

Just coming and going.