A random universe? I think not. Would a random universe send me to a baby shower and a funeral on the same day? Back to back?
LeeLee glitters and brightens all around her. Even if you don't see auras, you can see this...her golden glow. Folding her hands across her unborn babe, lying solid and low in her belly, an intimate smile, in Mona Lisa fashion, softens her face.
G.G.'s absence is marked by old photographs, the bookmarks of one's life. Her still body, dulled and grayed in death's pallor, has been high-fired into bone-chipped powder. No more smiles for G.G. Or frowns either.
One life arriving.
One life leaving.
One mirroring hope and happiness.
The other, loss and sadness.
Gifts and Games.
Tissues and tears.
I can only imagine the Big Gal Upstairs coordinating these events:
Little soul...you go on into the body of Baby Isabelle. Old soul...you come on out of that used up, tumor ridden body and rest for a spell. Put your feet up, or what used to be your feet, while we talk about how you'll next come back to work on your karma.
Cosmic orchestration is intense. Wedding Planners and Air Traffic Controllers have it easy in comparison.
Everyone is happy to welcome the new baby...a new life...a blank slate open for great accomplishments and outcomes.
G.G.? Well, sad to say she made a lot of people miserable during her long life. I know it's not right to speak ill of the dead but, she didn't treat people well, especially family. It is what it is. She was who she was. To say it was not so would be lying. Which is worse?
She was Le Grand Bitch. Oh, not my words but those of her children and close family members who were with her through her last sucked breath. I know what they were talking about though. I witnessed G.G.'s reign of terror on many occasions. But even so, there were tears shed at her passing and the transition was hard. A memorial, that she didn't want, was held, anyway, with meat, cheese and veggie trays and salads and carrot cake.
There were a few people she'd made happy during her reign. I overheard them telling the family so. The family, gracious to the last, nodded, comforted and thanked them for their stories and memories.
G.G. left behind a husband who doesn't even know she's gone. Doesn't know his own name. Doesn't even remember that she existed. They told him she had passed. He doesn't know the difference between G.G.'s death and stuffed eggplant.
Still, the day a person takes their first breath and begins pumping blood is marked, as is their last. Two souls trading places in a universe less random than we think.
Would you care for some potato salad or a piece of carrot cake while you make the switch? Not going to be food like this, for either of you, for a long time.
