Many workplaces and other communities recognize, if only at a folk wisdom level, some variation of the rule of three. When I was a nurse, for instance, emergencies in the nursing unit seemed often to occur in groups of three. As far as I know, there is no statistical reality behind such beliefs, but we’d nevertheless worry about who the third in a series might turn out to be, the same way nurses on the maternity unit worried about working on full moons. And of course, we always acted “as if” we were completely in charge of sanity and survival and with real confidence, invested our hearts and skills in good preventative care.
Last Saturday (4/15), Matt’s kitty, Molly, began to signal that she was ready to die, months after diagnosis with lymphoma. She and her tortoiseshell sister, Quellie, had provided sweet companionship for Matt for more than 14 years. Matt decided he wanted to be sure to be with Molly when she died, so the Anderson-Allens took her to the vet on Monday (4/18) to assure her a peaceful and accompanied death. She was a purry-furry up to the very end. We will miss her.
Then my uncle Bill Haynes died unexpectedly early in a hospital admission on Tuesday night (4/18). The funeral was yesterday in Monticello, GA, in a hard to get to place in the mountains south and east of Atlanta. No matter how we worked the flights (or the $$), there was no way I could make the service. My mother was the oldest of five and my uncles Bill and Charlie the two next in line, and all three are gone now (Bill is on the right in the picture). I am hoping Bill’s death will spur my growing southern family to hold a reunion soon. It’s been many years since we’ve come together. I miss them.
Yesterday morning (4/22, Earth Day) we woke to the sound of the huge 100 year-old healthy maple tree being chainsawed down in our across-the-street neighbor's yard. They erased all trace of it in 90 minutes. Even the stump is gone; even the story of that tree's life, extinguished.
Spring. Loss is hard. All our relations. Threes.