Everything is spinning

Dateline: US Airways flight from Pittsburgh to Phoenix, Sunday 28 March

I got home Friday night from my Premeditated Media Tour feeling awfully positive about my life and my future. There was this strong sense of everything falling into place.

But the Irish in me immediately suspected that I would be made to pay for all this good fortune. A call from my Mom confirmed what I had suspected in my brotherís stream of emails over the week: my Dadís condition following his very risky-but-unavoidable heart surgery was coming undone. We needed everything to go right and God had not granted us this wish.

But the following morning a difficult decision had been made and my Dad was goneójust like that. My siblings keeping watch at the hospital packed up the gear and departed, and the inexorable family motion toward a funeral began.

We had won some key battles, mostly through my Dadís indomitable will, but the war had been lost.

Naturally, you are crushed by such moments in life, but you struggle through your day with a sense of duty. Mine was to shepherd four boys plus my son Kevin through his birthday celebration at Providence Place Mall. We did Dave & Busterís arcade, Ben & Jerryís ice cream, and the NASCAR 3-D film at the IMAX. We told Kevin about his Grandfather, following the party.

That night when all the kids were in bed, Vonne opened the FedEx package that came earlier in the day. She knew it cost extra to send a FedEx on Saturday and did not recognize the name of the sender. It turned out to be a bottle of expensive 18-year-old scotch whiskey (Macallan) from Steve Oppenheim and Marilyn Ducksworth of Putnam, the director and executive director, respectively, of PR. It was a thank-you for my effort over the previous three days.

The next morning I work up with a horrible case of vertigo. Knowing I hadnít drunk enough to warrant that outcome, I suspected the onset of tree pollen was working its usual spring magic, yielding inner-ear congestion. But I couldnít help but explore the alternative, metaphysical explanation: my Fatherís death had staggered me, sent my world spinning. In more ways than one, it was hard to get my bearings.

Then I thought of what my Dad did for my family over all those yearsódecades, really. Despite all his allergies, sinus troubles, and other small but debilitating ailments, the man always got out of bed and made whatever needed to happen to make sure his seven kids were clothed, fed, schooled, treated, and so on. He did not make excuses, never offered a word of serious complaint (although he was an inveterate kidder), but simply made it happenówhatever it was, whatever it took, whatever the cost.

I thought of what my Dad would have said to me at this moment and knew immediately the words I would have heard: ìDonít let any of this get you down. Just stay focused on taking care of your family. Thatís the important thing.î

And so, despite my bumping into walls and staggering around like a drunken sailor, I made my way up to the room above the garage, flicked on the PC, and banged out 1,500 words for the 4 April issue of the Washington Postís Outlook section. Then I and my kids cleaned up the house a bit and headed to see ìScooby-Doo 2.î My wife Vonne met us afterwards at McDonaldís (she was out shopping for clothes for the kids to wear at the wake and funeralólikewise doing what needed to get done), where I peeled off and flew to Phoenix, arriving around midnight.