|Ms Foxy, my mom's cat that had been her brother's.|
|Foxy lived til the ripe old age of 18.|
My mother was five years younger than he was. He was the closest sibling in age to her, with three older brothers than that yet. All of them are gone now, my mother included. It saddens me, in that mild way of resignation, not sharp horrifying painful grief, that all my Grandma's five children have died, passing from this earth, residing here for such a relatively short time. Mild resignation because that is the way of the world, that time marches on and we age, cycling through our lives, dying off, and yet time continues, sloughing through generation after generation.
Last summer, I saw a few of my first cousins, other grandchildren of Helen Evert, nee Blass. I also visited with some distant relatives, of extended family, grandchildren of our grandmother's siblings, grandchildren of those first cousins, grandchildren of grandchildren. Our Aunts Flo, Ethyl, Lorraine, and a few others from that oldest living generation holding down the fort while the rest of us milled around them like moons revolving around these founding women who birthed generations of variously surnamed beings who have continued the life cycle, taking our places accordingly, here but for a speck of time.