The Comfort of Continuety

There is comfort in knowing something of value comes from our lives.  Some little piece. A moment, a thought, the solution to the common cold, a great novel. Something.  Or maybe it is someone that cares we have gone. 

It seems silly to put much effort into it but as a person who studied history.  We spend most of our efforts on the big events. The big people and artist and the musicians and the like.  Even they have bits of their lives rushed over and forgotten.  The Dr. Seuss with a new book after 50 years, a manuscript found in the basement closet. 

So here I sit.  With a bit of deep sadness that has seemed to come to the surface.  It comes from finding a box of pictures.  These are mostly formal pictures but as I looked a the framed pictures, I realized there will not be any more of new humans that look like the rest of the ones in the box.  This group of genes is done.  No more high cheek bones and almond eyes.  No more big smiles that accentuate round cheeks from under a fringe of brown hair. No reflections of the past, Grampa's eyes, Great Grandpa's Nose, the weird family web toes.  

Does it matter?  Not really.  Will there be children that love the Stacking doll or Grandma Mary's ax or Great Grandma's Turkey Roaster?

Of course there will. We are a family of vast acceptance of the new and the interesting.  We just add some more water to the

soup and make a place at the table.

There is a loss here. A real loss. A real end. The mirror is broken.  No more reflections of the particular group of genes.  I get to be sad about that for a bit.  Then I will move on.  Because there is no other option. Not for us. Continuity is not a possibility. 

I guess I better get dressed!