I spent yesterday evening with our neighbor, who is still recovering from the very recent loss of her younger sister to cancer. She succumbed to the disease exactly two weeks after her diagnosis and her funeral service was held on Tuesday.
We watched The March of the Penguins. This was my second opportunity to see it, but her first. She was captivated, telling me afterwards that she had no idea that the lives of the birds were so difficult. We don’t often see that side of the animal kingdom; one so similar to our own – filled with triumph and tragedy.
I was particularly struck by the revelation that the older birds often die in the same spot where they are conceived, hatched, and reared. The cruel, cold world that they are born into usually claims their life in the end. There seems to be an almost poetic beauty in their demise.
It also seems strangely fitting that my partner is away visiting his sister as she brings new life into the world. One life ends and another begins. There is balance, there is order, there is harmony.