December 31, 2014
Two years ago, we were eating stuffed mushrooms and drinking Pineapple-Orange Martinis, putting the finishing touches on Osso Buco and Saffron Risotto, opening a bottle of Veuve and wishing everyone a Very Happy New Year. One year ago, we were sitting in a house full of devastated people trying to grasp what had happened that afternoon and not finding any meaning. The image of a raw open grave and a life cut far too short overpowered everyone. This year, just another Wednesday night. Next year …?
As we approach one more totally arbitrary moment on the time-space continuum, a moment only made significant by a certain group of people who mark time using a particular system of reckoning, I wonder in what way, if any, tomorrow will differ from today, other than the changing of one number in the naming of the year for another. For millions of people on this planet, this is just a December evening, and for many, it is not even called December. Whatever you call it, and however you mark it, I wish you all a season of peace in the coming days.
For all the parents, members of this terrible club, I especially wish you whatever windows of peace you can find. As I read recently, “Sorrow is no longer the islands but the sea.” May you find landfall on the islands of tranquility, and if not tranquility, at least some brief respite from your journey, as you traverse this ocean of heartbreak upon which we have been cast adrift.