May the Circle Be Unbroken

While some of us are sweating through our shirts before the sun is already up in the sky, others are doing hard work of another kind.  Being born and dying -- that kind of hard.  The uncle that we visited in Boston recently, he died.  He was such a gracious, kind, gentle, intelligent, funny, talented man with a strong moral compass and a wonderful deep voice.  He was adored by grandchildren, children, nieces and nephews and probably dozens of people I never heard of. He had a soft Louisiana accent and a slow way of speaking, allowing for many dry jokes. He left this life quietly and without fussing about the way he had to go. We don't get to choose how we die but if we are lucky we get to choose how we feel about dying. I never had a conversation with him about it but he died the same way he lived, patiently and without loud complaints.  He was at home with hospice care, always with my aunt Sarah.  

As we all know, dying is hard work.  It seems so much better to know that you are dying and to be allowed to think that through than it would be to die quickly and without warning. Of course lots of people don't get to think it through because their minds don't stay strong, but Jim was lucky to have his good mind the whole time, even if sleeping became the main activity in the end.  When my father died, he never took the opportunity to understand that he was going to not going to  be able to get through his illness. Because he missed that chance, we all did, and that has colored my feelings about death for decades. But  watching people like Jim and Grandma Hiu and Uncle Vern confront their departures, that has helped me to see how I want to be, if I can, when I die. I want to die old and I want to die knowing that this is happening.  If I can't be old, I still want to be aware. I definitely don't want to die tragically and suddenly.  That seems like such a waste of a chance to participate.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the cycle, Julia and Stephen spent a few days waiting for their baby to appear after Julia's water broke.  They hung around, doing little things while they waited, and after a few days the baby decided to make an appearance.  They had the baby at home, to the consternation of some of their more conservative and caring relatives, and everything went amazingly well.  So now there is a two week old in our midst. Her name is Shaia Rose, which I say rhymes with papaya nose, and she is a wee thing with no schedule that matches the rest of the world yet. Julia is less surprised than Stephen, I think, at all the demands that this little six pound person can make.  Everyone is thriving despite the lack of sleep.

And now I have to get out there and sweat through another set of clothes. My job is much less momentous than birthing and dying, but feeding people is what happens in between the beginning and the end.