Unbroken Circle

On Sunday we went to Tennessee Valley and not only happened upon such a large bobcat that we initially mistook it for a mountain lion, but a beautiful great horned owl. Perhaps foreshadowed by the latter, we were also confronted with a body on the shore. Given the position of Tennessee beach and the tides off of the Marin Headlands, it was pretty likely a jumper.

This was, The Kid pointed out, the closest he'd ever been to a corpse -- which is to say not too close, but close enough to tell us, aided by binoculars, what the man was wearing. There weren't many passers-by that day. Who knows the reason. So we were lone hikers when the coroner's van came by. Once the body was in, and the van passed, The Kid and The Partner both decided it was time to break into song. I scolded them both, unnecessarily imparting the significance of respect for the dead.

"But Mom, we are respecting him," said The Kid."We are singing because we don't know if the circle will be unbroken... we're singing because we wonder if he's a father."

And this was the moment The Kid began to grapple with human mortality. We learned thereafter that when we die he's going to keep a lock of hair from each of our heads in a locket around his neck, and The Partner's umbrella will be forever preserved in a pine box in The Kid's living room -- somewhat like the dog's ashes, which still sit in a tiny box next to his bed, bearing the words, in red sharpied child scrawl: "SAMMY RIP".