January 2. Heavy sigh. The world is restarting its routines, evidenced by thrice the number of cars in the Metra commuter lot this morning. Once on board the train I…
My favorite story which makes me believe in fate is from January 1942 at St. Bernard’s Hospital. Patricia Craven and Dorothy Burns shared a room in the maternity ward. Patricia gave birth to Pasty, and Dorothy gave birth to Marie. The mothers would meet again 27 years later when Patricia’s son, Jerry, married Marie.
If I run, I can’t hide because everywhere I turn the word “journey” is there. I don’t know what’s happening in the universe, but I do know what’s happening with me here on this planet. Every day this week every acquaintance, every call, every meeting, every appointment, every class, every event, and every errand is another step in this journey.
“Life truly lived is a risky business, and if one puts up too many fences against risk one ends shutting out life itself.”
Kenneth S. Davis, Courage to Change, December 12
Some 28 years later, I was working as the Obituary Editor at the Chicago Tribune when Pat Carroll died. That morning I was not faced with my own mortality, but my own existence. What if my mom never became a nun and never met Pat? Well, like death, life is certain, too. I wouldn’t have been born, let alone working at the Tribune.