I woke up on Tuesday to the news that Hugh Masekela, a South African musician who performed at Bushfire last year, had died.

Watching him perform was beautiful, especially because of the way a 78-year-old musician was still rocking on stage and connecting with all of the young people in the crowd.

Later in the day I noticed that both Thandi and Sitfwatfwa’s eggs had hatched. Make says three belong to each hen, but I do not think that is the case. All of them belong to each other, as they brooded next to each other, and I think Thandi generally sat on all the eggs.

And then, at bed time, I checked my email one last time for the day, where I saw that my grandmother on my father’s side died in her sleep.

Dead. Life. Death.