Circle of life

The Lion King has always been one of my favorite movies. It points out many life lessons. However, I never anticipated living out that circle of life in one emotional week.

In one week’s time, my first granddaughter (third grandchild) was born, my 100-year-old grandmother passed away, I celebrated one year since my last treatment for melanoma, and the week topped off with my father-in-law requiring surgery and ending up in ICU with a tube in his throat to help him breath. The grandeur and miracle of birth, followed less than three days later by the passing of a century of life, sprinkled with a reminder of the life-threatening instances which make life priceless and precious.

While my granddaughter is named after my mother-in-law who died seven years ago, how can it be that my grandmother, whose health has been failing for years, peacefully passes days after her fourth great, great-grandchild is born?

A century of our family slips away as a new generation begins. The circle of life. My granddaughter will never know her namesake, nor the matriarch who formed our family’s maternal branch, but both will be with her in every tradition we share, every token passed down, every memory retold, until she finds her place on the path unwinding.

As the song by Elton John tells us, the circle of life “moves us all, through despair and hope, through faith and love.”

My granddaughter, and two older grandsons, provide the hope through the despair of death and illness. I found out grandson number two was on the way shortly after my diagnosis in 2013. As I toasted a year since my last treatment this week, it seems long ago that I finished the last round of immunotherapy, yet, in cancer terms, a year out from treatment, two years out from diagnosis, is not that long, thus the continued need for hope and faith.

My father-in-law’s hospitalization reminded me of that as I watched him unable to speak to the room of people gathered at the foot of his bed. They talked about baseball and pouring concrete, yet he drifted in and out of sleep, only able to glance about the room and nod if a yes or no question was thrown at him. I wondered how I would feel if that were me in the bed. And, quite honestly, I wasn’t so sure such a crowd would be soothing, despite best intentions.

The whole week sent us on an emotional roller coaster with exhilarating ascents, plummeting descents and slow, painful, creeping climbs, which we are still climbing, as the fate of my father-in-law waits for doctors in the next few days.

Weeks like this are the rude reminders of the fragility of life, “on the path unwinding, the circle of life.” A reminder that there is more to see, more to do, more to take in, more to find than can ever be seen, done, taken in or found, but the sun rises high… and it sets, every day of every challenging week of every tiresome month, of every year, on the path unwinding.

We have little control on that path unwinding. We simply follow it with the rising and setting of the sun, marveling at each sunrise and sunset, just as one generation rises and another sets in the circle of life.

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