How do you capture the essence of a life and legacy in 200 words or less? That is the onerous task – and awesome responsibility – faced every day by the newspaper obituary writer. In the wake of 9/11, the writers at the New York Times faced an even greater challenge. How to memorialize nearly 3000 dead, most of whom were known only to friends and family?

The genius solution they came up with was to focus each one on a singular story or idiosyncratic detail that best captured the essence of that person. Thus, the moving “Portraits of Grief” column that ran daily in the Times for three and a half months in the wake of that horrific event. It was an impressionistic mosaic that provided an intimate glimpse into the lives of others. For some, it was a too-painful reminder. For others, it was a means of connecting with the victims, a source of healing and consolation.

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Is there anybody you’re not talking to? Is there anybody you hung up on or who hung up on you recently? Is there anyone you’re alienated from? Is there silence in your life that you wish wasn’t there?

Phyllis McGinley captures it best in this Ballade,
“Sticks and stones are hard on bones

Aimed with angry art,

Words can sting like anything

But silence breaks the heart.”
Silence breaks the heart.
 
With the holidays approaching, is this the right moment for a card or a visit? Would a phone call help? Maybe yes, maybe no. Only you can decide if this is the year to reconcile with that person. Only you know if enough time has gone by. But it’s certainly a valid question, isn’t it?

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As the sole provider for our family of 5, I know my father worried a lot about money. Where he found comfort in the face of his fears was often in church. Every day he kept a ritual of attending early morning mass before work, which helped to relax him and set the tone for the rest of his day.

But it doesn’t have to be religious practice. Anything we do on a regular basis has the power to enrich and transform our lives. A positive ritual is a behavior that becomes automatic over time—fueled by some deeply held value. In contrast to willpower and discipline, which require pushing yourself to a particular behavior, a ritual pulls at you.

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My high school solicited photos and stories from alumnae this week for an anniversary brochure it is composing in honor of its 150th anniversary. Upon reflection, I realized that as a student at Saint Elizabeth’s Academy, I took very seriously the annual “talent show.” The year I dressed up as a purple raisin and sang “I heard it through the grapevine” may not go down in musical history as the greatest ever performance of a Marvin Gaye song, but it’s one that I will remember for the rest of my life.  

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I never saw my father cry. Not at my brother’s wedding, our cousin’s funeral or my college graduation. It may have been his buttoned up Teutonic heritage, or former training in the army, but one thing is certain, Dad wasn’t very open with his emotions. Whenever I’d ask him about his feelings, his facial muscles would twitch and he’d fob me off with a “better go ask your mother.”

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