The Latest . . .

Now that the Olympics are over, I need to catch up on some of the things that happened while I was exclusively commenting on the Games.

Here's the latest on my writing career: I have been working on a profile article on a performing artist in New York. Due to our respective busy schedules and other circumstances, it's been taking me three years and nine drafts (so far) to write it. But now, it looks like I'll be getting it finished later. I'll keep you all posted.

The trial against the young man accused of attacking his girlfriend - the one I almost got on the jury of - ended with a guilty verdict. I read it in the newspaper.

And finally . . . 

My aunt died.

My Aunt Mary Clare - the older of my father's two younger sisters - had been suffering from Waldenstrom's macroglobulinemia, a rare blood cancer. After five years of keeping it under control, she took a turn for the worse in the past year, and she finally had to leave the hospital when there was nothing more the doctors could do for her. She died at home three days after her sixtieth birthday. Unable to attend the funeral Mass, my mother and I arrived at the church before it started in order to pay our final respects. :-( (My father, for the record, is still alive. He stayed for the Mass, of course.)

My aunt's death led me to do something I had been meaning to do for a long time - visit the grave of my paternal grandparents and my Uncle Bill. I did so this past Saturday. There, I planted some flowers and stayed for a while to contemplate on life and death. I don't even remember my paternal grandmother - she died before my first birthday - and I barely remember my uncle, who died when I was four. My grandfather was a principled, religious man, and he was a strong patriarchal figure for my family; I remember him well, and his passing was a terrible blow to the Maginnis clan.

I was also led to contemplate on my own mortality. This was the first time I visited the grave by myself, and being alone in a cemetery while looking at a headstone that bears your own last name has made wonder what I want to do and how I want to live in the time I have left. . . .and I'm only 38.

"But wait there in the distance, your loom I think I see,
Could it be that after all my prayers you've answered me?
After days of wondering, I see the reason why
You've kept it to this minute - for I'm about to die!
Weaver of life, at last now I can see
The pattern of my life gone by shown on your tapestry."

- Charlie Whitney / Roger Chapman
Family, "The Weaver's Answer," 1969