What's with November?

P1010291, originally uploaded by julia_mcgarey.

This is the cow. The cow that, when we were walking through the streets of Mussoorie, my cousin Jessie wanted to pet. See the fingertips at the bottom of the frame? It so perfectly commemorates that moment for me. This also the cow that, Ronnie, our Indian cousin, told Jessie NOT to pet because Indian cows sting. She looked at me doubtingly, and I nodded in agreement.

Jessie, who was twelve years old at the time, has kept in touch with Ronnie by email since we returned from India nearly two years ago. My dad called me this morning to tell me that Roni and his brother, Honey , were killed in a car accident last night. How is it that my grandfather's death last week barely phased me, but this tears me apart? I feel kind of guilty about that, but Ronnie was such a joyful, genuine person. He was impossible not to like, and he had such a great sense of humor. When my uncle gave the Christmas sermon at the children's home in English that year, Ronnie translated for the kids, imitating every gesture my uncle made. He had the kids roaring with laughter. It was a funny sermon to begin with, but nobody could have contributed more as a translator than Ronnie did.

I wish I had a better picture of Ronnie (that's him on the right), but I can't seem to find one. Ronnie's grandmother had leprosy, so his mother grew up at the children's home that my great grandparents started, and eventually took over managing it, so Ronnie grew up there too. My grandmother's foundation had been funding his journey through dental school. He would have been done next year! Amazingly, while he was in school, he decided to adopt two young boys. I haven't heard what happened to them, but I hope they are okay.

Everyone in my family cared very much for Ronnie. I can't believe that this happened so close to my grandfather's passing, and almost exactly a year after my Aunt Analea died.

And to think, I was planning to post a short blog about the woodpecker that woke me up this morning when my dad called.