November 27: So It Goes, Good Friend, Good Daughter

Robert Kennedy, whose summer home is eight miles from the home I live in all year round, was shot two nights ago.  He died last night.  So it goes.

Martin Luther King was shot a month ago.  He died, too.  So it goes.

and every day my Government gives me a count of corpses created by military science in Vietnam.  So it goes.

My father died many years ago now--of natural causes.  So it goes.  He was a sweet man.  He was a gun nut, too.  He left me his guns.  They rust.

This is quite the catalogue of death.  Of course, Slaughterhouse, in a lot of ways, is a catalogue of death.  Vonnegut wrote the book to somehow grapple with his war experiences, including the destruction of the city of Dresden.  Death is sort of inescapable.

Right now, I have a good friend whose daughter, the last I heard, was in a coma in the hospital.  Her daughter is also good friend of my family.  She was present when my son was brought to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit after he was delivered.  In a time when I was feeling more than a little unnerved, she was sort of an anchor for me.  She kept me laughing and calm.

I am not going to discuss the details here.  That is not my place.  I'm simply sending this story out into the world, asking for good thoughts, prayers, and hope.

Saint Marty is not ready for another "so it goes" right now.