Samsara

We're born, we live for a while, we die.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Whether you believe in reincarnation in a literal sense, or just meditate now and then about all the little particles of various beings that eventually wind up in that broccoli spear on your plate, you cannot deny that birth and death are inextricably bound together.

That lesson was brought home for me in a very vivid way this week.

First, I found out that two of my friends had died, one of a heart attack at age 45. These were friends I saw only once or twice a year, but their deaths felt like a little bit of joy, and a little bit of air, had been sucked out of the world.

Then my father called and told me that my grandmother passed away. She had been so very ill for so long, completely consumed by dementia, to the point of near catatonia, for years. I felt guilty for not shedding tears over her passing. It had been so long since she had been alive in any meaningful sense, it felt more like a gentle letting go, a peaceful return to the earth.

And today, I learned that two other women I know are pregnant. I confess, little Ricochet notwithstanding, it was very hard to hear. I think it will always be difficult for me to hear about other people's pregnancies, especially those that come easily.

But you have to admit, there is something sublimely symmetrical, something almost mystical, about it. Three deaths. Three new lives under construction.

Death, rebirth.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

By the way, I got the news this morning that my beta HcG level had climbed from 820 on Monday to 3700 as of yesterday. My doubling time is a pretty speedy 1.38 days. They don't call him Ricochet Rabbit for nothin'.