Last Call
As soon as I woke up this morning, I reminded myself to call Uncle Joe. Sunday is the day I usually call my dad’s younger brother in Los Angeles to get the latest on the West Coast branch of the Lenihans. And then I remembered I couldn’t call Uncle Joe today—or any other day. Joe died on Wednesday and so the last member of my father’s family left this world on the first of the new year. Joe was in his nineties and in failing health, but it’s hard to believe that I won’t be talking with him on the phone anymore or seeing him when I go out there for a visit. My sister and I have been staying with Joe and his wife Sara for so many years now. They took us all over the place to see the sites and meet up with our cousins. If I recall—and don’t quote me--I first went out there in the late Eighties when I was living in Pennsylvania. Joe and I had trouble finding each other when I arrived in LAX, but we met up and I sat in the back seat of his car recovering from my post-flight trau...