When Life

This week I've spent a lot of time thinking about my cousin, Lou.

Lou was the youngest of the quartet of "cousins" my sister and I adored. Their family lived nearby on the "top" floor of the attached tenement to the east (448 W. 58th St) with my Dad's father, Matt, "Pop" Donlon.

My cousins never really knew their own father who died before Lou was a year old. Aunt Lizzie, their Mother and Dad's sister, survived another decade before leaving Lou an orphan at 12. Our elderly and reclusive grandfather "kept house" while the quartet finished their education and grew their own wings.

I certainly couldn't describe their childhood as idyllic, but I never heard a word of complaint from any of the four.

And perhaps that is what caused the sudden rush of memories this week as I doubted I would survive a violent battle with Covid.

I remembered the sunny afternoon when returning from school, my 15 year old cousin found his beloved grandfather, not "asleep" but "gone." Although Lou's pain was obvious, there were no tears.

I also recalled not many years later the day he returned home from Walter Reed Hospital where a prosthetic had replaced the foot lost during the last days of "A War to End Wars." Again, there were no tears.

This week fighting both the virus and its companion anxiety, I kept reaching back in time trying to retrieve some of the joie de vivre the beloved quartet shared for so long with both my sister and I.

All four are gone now and Lou was the last. In recent years despite living in different parts of the country and quite far from 58th St,, we shared weekly FaceTime visits sprinkled with loving memories. Both our beloved spouses had already boarded the ferry, and our time shared brought solace without sadness.

Today recalling how neither Lou nor any of his three siblings ever donned the proverbial "black coat" of Irish lore, I attempted to follow their example.

And suddenly I remembered the only time Lou ever made a tentative request was when he inquired:

"Anne do you know where I could send for a hard roll from a New York bakery? The kind we always had after Mass on Sunday with small black seeds?"

That was several years before online shopping became so popular and shipping food a simple matter.

Remembering Lou's wish yesterday, I followed his lead and put in an online order at Common Good bakery for their version of a beloved Sunday family ritual.

I b elieve it will also help restore the inspiration I was taught by "The Cousins" about trusting in The Good Shepherd when life seems bleakest.