Bambi: My favorite Scary Movie

Do you remember how the movie Bambi ended? After the forest fire, Bambi stands watch over his new family. He stands with his father, the Great Prince, on a hill looking over what's left of the forest as it begins the process of renewal. Bambi, now a young buck, steps up beside his father, both surveying their domain. Then, the scary part happened. The Great Prince silently turns and walks away, leaving Bambi, the new prince of the forest with the responsibility to lead and protect the animals of the forest. Not long after I saw this movie as a young adult, newly married, recently moved to an unfamiliar town and starting a new church, one of those men who had always seemed like Bambi's dad to me died. He, like my own dad, was one of those men you'd count on in a fire. Steady, imposing, decisive.
It was frightening to me to identify with Bambi. The challenges and tasks that lay before him/me. Moving from 'son' to 'dad'. All of a sudden, my generation moving into the role of the last generation seemed less like the mental exercise of a freshmen philosophy course and more like real life.
That was nearly 20 years ago, which brings me to last week, when my grandmother, Arrita Mae McKay, passed away. She was my last remaining grandparent. She was in the hospital about a week, and seemed to be recovering from her bout with Pneumonia when 'just like that' she went into respiratory & cardiac arrest. They were able to get her heart pumping again, and help her breathe with a respirator, but they never brought grandmother back. At the funeral, I was talking with my dad and something he said reminded me of Bambi. Dad's words were "I told your mom that there don't seem to be many of the old generation left anymore, and she told me "we are the old generation now."
I've grown accustomed to, and even comfortable with my move into the role of "dad" in my world, but it is a weird sensation to think about, not Bambi, but Bambi's dad. Yeah, I know my son is only 7, and that there will likely be many more forest fires for me to fight, but I've got a few under my belt now, and the confidence that comes from experience makes the next one not so daunting. I've survived before and that makes me believe I'll survive the next one too. I just never noticed Bambi's dad, until I listened to my dad last week.

I am learning, I think, that life will never be without it's frightening, and difficult challenges. I will never be at a point in my life where I can just "coast" downhill. That "Ahhh, I've made it! Soul, take thine ease. Eat, drink and be merry" moment is a moving target. It will always be just out of reach. I think, in fact, that it was as foreboding for Bambi's dad to step away as it was for Bambi to step up. Do you ever think about that? Do you think that maybe it's meant to be that way? That life isn't meant to be taken on cruise control?
Not only did I lose my grandmother, but my mom lost her mother, and just about a year ago, when my grandfather died, I watched my grandmother lose her husband. Someday my son will lose his grandmother, and at the same time will watch me lose my mother. Then, almost like the song that never ends, someday someone will lose me...when my song here on this earth ends.
Goodbye Grandmother. I will miss you. Tell Granddad "hi" for me, and I'll see you later.