The gently closing door...

“Time is a sort of river of passing events,

and strong is its current; no sooner is a

thing brought into sight than it is swept

by and another takes its place, and this

too will be swept away.”

– Marcus Aurelius

“I won’t be able to come this year for Thanksgiving. As I get older, traveling during the holidays becomes more and more stressful….” Michael, Molly’s brother, wrote.

This could be any member of anyone’s family as we live disparate lives in vastly different geographical locations. I am not certain this is only an American phenomenon, but surely because of our mobile society and vast country size, visiting with family is more than simply heading across town or making a half-day drive to see the people we love…

There was a time in this country when most people lived their lives in relatively close proximity to one another. The U.S., however, is large and as the transportation infrastructure and communication capability increased, families dispersed, and regular interaction became greatly reduced. What had been the exception (living away from family) has become the norm.

Our family, for example, is mostly on the East Coast.  Molly’s older brother lives in Tusla, Oklahoma, about a thousand miles away. That would put him a little more than half-way to Philadelphia, where her younger brother lives. My sister, nephews and nieces all reside in Washington and Baltimore respectively.

Both Molly’s and my parents are gone, and we have no children – apologies to Leah, Hannah, and Sarah, the girls with whom we cohabit. Even they are in their geriatric feline years.

The thing is that the folk of our families are all busy with their lives. The river is running faster for them than it is for us. Things on our end of life have slowed and are less complicated.

I remember those years when I returned from college or military service or work to be with family. I always looked forward to it, because it was a reuniting with people with whom I had long relationships. After all, mothers and dads and sisters had known me all of my life. The roots were deep. There is something comforting about interacting with someone who knows you well…seen you mature, and loved you anyway. In many ways, it was a touchstone for continuity.

Except for my older sister, all of that is gone now. While I have NO DOUBT, the one-generation downstream loves me, in many ways they do not know me. I suppose this is one of the reasons I write on a weekly basis. I am uncertain all of them read these musings, but they do provide a certain insight into the things that make life meaningful to me.

My nieces and nephews came along after I was already a semi-adult, not knowing me in the early years the way my nuclear family did. The closest would be my younger sister’s daughter, who lived with us from her birth to high school and had extremely frequent contact. Even she, however, arrived when I was in my thirties, when I, as she is now, was much busier in life. And, yet these gentle people know me the best, and have connections not shared by others.

While my older sister survives, her life path matured much faster than mine. I was still in college, trying to sort out whether life had any meaning when she was off, married with children and on a life of her own. It’s not that we don’t love one another, we surely do, but she was/is driven, finding a pathway early in life to which she steadfastly committed. The result? She has raised a great family and influenced hundreds of young people, injecting them with a passion for music and performance. Dedication to anything is by its very nature life consuming. The addition of children requires superhuman capacity. She has both. For us to see one another over the years, by the nature of her schedule, has meant a trip to the east.

As time drifts by, it is less likely that we will find ourselves leaving the warmth of the desert for a few days in the winters of the east. Even now, the realization I have much less time left than I have lived carries weight. It is also evident that the speed with which our families live (and I once lived) makes the possibilities of them coming west even less likely.

As I sit behind this keyboard, I feel a mild sense of melancholy, wrestling with the realization that life continues to contract. The note from Molly’s brother is another marker along the trail.

On the other hand, at least in the ‘glass half-full' mentality, I continue to subscribe to, I do not intend to go quietly into the night. I'll be in Asia and Europe in November, and then home for a quiet Thanksgiving with Molly and the girls. By early December, I should have recovered enough to point my mind toward those I have known the longest and deeply love.

My intent? While I can still manage it, do my best to head east this winter briefly to visit the snow zoo* and touch the stone of those folk who, in spite of knowing me for all these years, still love me.

- ted

* Snow Zoo: The place you visit for a few short days to get the flavor of an environment alien to your way of life – then returning home.