Ben Casey would have understood
Death.
My Aunt Ruby died today.
She was my mother's middle sister. There were seven girls in the family originally; now only the eldest — my Aunt Jannie — and the two youngest — my mother and my Aunt Ethel — survive.
I hardly knew Aunt Ruby — one of the cold hard facts of a transient military upbringing, combined with our settling in California when most of the family is scattered across the Midwest — is that I hardly know any of my parents' relatives. I recall meeting Aunt Ruby, who lived in Detroit, exactly once. I believe I may have spoken to her on the phone a time or two when I still lived with my parents. I don't know much about what she was like, aside from her profession — she was a nurse. She lived with her only son — or, more accurately, he lived with her — and for many years she took care of her aging mother-in-law, who died some years ago.
I'm sad for my mother, whom I know feels increasingly alone in the world with yet another of her siblings gone. I'm sad for my cousin Steve, who has never had to fend for himself and now will have to learn how, in the midst of adulthood. And I'm a little sad that I didn't know my aunt better, and now never will.
Life.
KM's new bunny came home today.
The first rabbit, a gray ball of fur KM christened "Fluffy," joined the household one Christmas when KM was five or six, and lived with us for nearly nine years — a good old age, as rabbits go. Fluffy was never the most social of creatures, preferring to sit by herself and only occasionally consenting to sit still long enough to be held and petted. Still, KM loved the floppy old lagomorph dearly, and found her a genuine comfort during the dark days following her mother's cancer diagnosis, and through her chemotherapy and radiation treatment.
In her dotage, Fluffy developed an abscess that impaired her motor function, and she gradually became unable to move about by herself. It was a sad day when we had to take Fluffy to the vet's office for the last time, and come home without her.
The new bunny, a male, was rescued from a local animal shelter. KM named him "Ryan," apparently after a character on some television program she watches. He seems lively and curious, and already shows a good deal more spunk and personality than Fluffy ever did. The dog is unsure about the invader in her territory, but she'll no doubt learn to ignore him in time.
People and things go. People and things come. Eventually, they go again.
Death happens. Life happens. Not usually in that order.
Funny old world.
My Aunt Ruby died today.
She was my mother's middle sister. There were seven girls in the family originally; now only the eldest — my Aunt Jannie — and the two youngest — my mother and my Aunt Ethel — survive.
I hardly knew Aunt Ruby — one of the cold hard facts of a transient military upbringing, combined with our settling in California when most of the family is scattered across the Midwest — is that I hardly know any of my parents' relatives. I recall meeting Aunt Ruby, who lived in Detroit, exactly once. I believe I may have spoken to her on the phone a time or two when I still lived with my parents. I don't know much about what she was like, aside from her profession — she was a nurse. She lived with her only son — or, more accurately, he lived with her — and for many years she took care of her aging mother-in-law, who died some years ago.
I'm sad for my mother, whom I know feels increasingly alone in the world with yet another of her siblings gone. I'm sad for my cousin Steve, who has never had to fend for himself and now will have to learn how, in the midst of adulthood. And I'm a little sad that I didn't know my aunt better, and now never will.
Life.
KM's new bunny came home today.
The first rabbit, a gray ball of fur KM christened "Fluffy," joined the household one Christmas when KM was five or six, and lived with us for nearly nine years — a good old age, as rabbits go. Fluffy was never the most social of creatures, preferring to sit by herself and only occasionally consenting to sit still long enough to be held and petted. Still, KM loved the floppy old lagomorph dearly, and found her a genuine comfort during the dark days following her mother's cancer diagnosis, and through her chemotherapy and radiation treatment.
In her dotage, Fluffy developed an abscess that impaired her motor function, and she gradually became unable to move about by herself. It was a sad day when we had to take Fluffy to the vet's office for the last time, and come home without her.
The new bunny, a male, was rescued from a local animal shelter. KM named him "Ryan," apparently after a character on some television program she watches. He seems lively and curious, and already shows a good deal more spunk and personality than Fluffy ever did. The dog is unsure about the invader in her territory, but she'll no doubt learn to ignore him in time.
People and things go. People and things come. Eventually, they go again.
Death happens. Life happens. Not usually in that order.
Funny old world.
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