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Donna's Journal
For All of Living

    Sometimes I think we sit before the screen of life like children watching a Disney movie. There will be tranquil moments with sweet tinkling music then, suddenly, there is a burst of rolling snare drums and clashing symbols only to return once again to lilting, quiet harps or maybe a  flute trilling notes of abandon while tiny animals scamper here and there.

    The Victorian mind set regarding death has rested on our shoulders for a life time. We run through the prairie lands avoiding all the known ways we die. The expected of age and infirmity or possible unheard of ways involving machinery and such. We watch our men step up to the possibility of it daily and like women who wait for their own to come in from the sea,  so are we helpless to change anything.

    Oh,  but it is the life that is so vibrant and beautiful whether through a child, a plant, a sunset, both magnanimous and tiny issues swim through our world and it makes for something to hold as dear to us. This causes all the other issues to pale in comparison. This happened to me recently.

    For a lady who loved life with all the passion of a queen letting go is not easy for Mother. All we can do as aging children is to stand in each of her quiet battles as wandering strangers lifting shadows away from the world around us as best we know how.  She is grieving for her lost earthly life and if we are not careful we are drawn into that grief in ways of sorrow and we are like a person trying to save a person who is drowning. Years ago she gave up her traditional “happy hunting” beliefs to trade for the Christian teachings of going to heaven but then, not really. She sometimes made comments after a funeral about how the preacher took a mighty powerful  position in deciding what a person’s ultimate fate was to be.  No other expressions would she elaborate or explain for her thinking, but we knew.

    Something of these thoughts were running through my mind as my attention was caught by the two-year-old grandson’s statue like stance as he gazed into the overgrowth of the neighbor’s field.

    “What is it?”  I asked.  “What is it, my boy?”

    “Go tell Gramma what you saw.”  My daughter was directing him to share his wondrous discovery.

    “As fast as his tiny legs could carry him, he was running toward me.  “Gramma! Gramma!”  His joy was so great he could hardly speak.  His face was alight with an expression of awe that was just so cheering to me. His attention was caught by something that was incredible and hard to believe. He could hardly wait to run up to me so he could explain the miracle.

    “Gramma!  Gramma! It’s a wabbit!  A wabbit!  I saw a widdle Wabbit!”

    “How wonderful!”  I’m thinking, “If we all could be as happy and in respect of something  simple as a half wild, half tame, rabbit.  And so, we return to our tradition teachings, "There will always be something there for you."

"Even if it is nothing but a baby rabbit and the wonder in a grandson's eyes,"  I'm thankful for this.

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