Yesterday's notebook entry had already been written when I came across reports of the chaos in the administration that bothered me so much that I rewrote the blog and saved the blog I had planned to send.
In that blog was this line: Everyone should wear black armbands. On this day in 1799, George Washington died on his Mount Vernon estate.
I was going to rewrite that for today when another event occurred: early this morning our extraordinary family dog, Murphy--who can only be described as Chris' companion--died. He was a sweet, loving guy and had a small life well worth celebrating for how giving he was and for the warmth those around him, especially Chris, provided him. This gave him a soulful glow that warmed even strangers. His was a life that joined, inextricably, with others.
Loss is always painful, and should be. It is a measure of the original, living attachment, and if tight, like a string instrument, is more tuned, beautiful, and meaningful.
Loss, of course, has a hierarchy. It is a function of give and take. A drachma is only a drachma. And Washington, perhaps one of modernity's most important men, has tremendous significance in our minds--but not our hearts. And it is in our hearts where life lives and flourishes.
Lives should not just collide with other lives. Each life, if meaningful, should merge and change the other, creating an alloy that continues on.
Such a life is immortal.
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