With All the Talk About David Bowie's Demise, Here's Something That Really Hits Home
The media flood of stories about David Bowie, who died on Sunday, came and went in its usual fashion. I didn't know Bowie personally, and - besides his name and some memory of a song or two he sang - had little connection with his life. So in death, all the media chatter fluttered about me like winter birds making a fuss in our yard when a storm approaches. I heard all the noise, but, frankly, understood little of it.
Now I've got nothing against Mr. Bowie, but one wonders how many people commenting on him and his life actually knew anything about the man, beyond some vague or nostalgic familiarity with his work. Then again, perhaps Bowie's parading of an "androgynous" persona over the years explains some of the fervor for his "artistry." Such past displays of gender confusion likely mark him as a kind of pioneer, perhaps even an evangelist, for the current round of aggressively manufactured and promoted sexual identity confusion, the acceptance of which has been added to the list of characteristics that qualify one as being "tolerant" in our self-proclaimed enlightened age.
In any case, with markets taking a breather from their dramatic and disturbing New Year's debut last week, I thought I'd take the opportunity to share something that hit home the very day Mr. Bowie passed on: the death of my cousin, who also died on Sunday. As opposed to the pop icon, my cousin and I shared real bits and pieces of our lives. We weren't very close over the course of our entire lives, but her presence holds a distinctive place during my years growing up.
After a long battle with cancer, another cousin’s email said she “passed peacefully” surrounded by her family. I know them all, those dear people. Our families exchanged visits from time to time when we were kids. Her parents and two sisters were and remain down-to-earth, accessible, delightful folks. Over the years, as we all went our separate ways, the visits stopped. Besides attending marriages, and a few other family events when I ran into them on occasion, my Mom, who stayed in close touch with them, filled in the gaps, keeping me apprised of various milestones in their lives. In recent years, we re-connected mostly attending various funerals, as we've all grown to the age where our elders have departed this earth, one by one. At a recent memorial over the summer, my wife and I spent a good chunk of time with my late cousin and one of her sons, an aspiring singer. Proud mom that she was, she whipped out her tablet and we were able to view and listen to him sing - rather well - the aria "Una Furtive Lagrima" from Donizetti's L'elisir d'Amore. (Ironically, it means "a furtive tear.") Being aware of her struggles with cancer for many years, her lovely appearance and lively conversation belied her condition. She did mention she was due for surgery in the fall, but passed it off in a manner only those who fight bravely against the odds over and over again can manage.
So when we heard she was in intensive care the weeks before Christmas, it was a bit of a shock. Even more so because shortly before her last surgery, she was asked to accompany her mother on an emergency visit to her mother's brother, as he was not responding to phone calls. As it turned out, the superintendent of the apartment building where the brother (my cousin's uncle) lived had to break the lock, revealing their beloved brother and uncle dead on his bed. As if her brave battles with cancer hadn't already proved the point, the incident further demonstrates my cousin's legendary toughness and strength facing life's dangers and pitfalls.
Given all she'd been through (and there was more), I can only hope that she has found peace and relief from all the pain and struggle in the eternal rest that death brings to us all. And, of course, I'm reminded to be thankful for the blessings God has given us, the greatest being those of our family still with us.
I bring all this up to encourage you to think about the endless flood of media - good, bad, and indifferent - that takes up so much of our time and attention these days. Is it really so necessary to be so very much "in touch" in those manufactured ways brought to us by Facetime, Twitter, texting, etc., with not only those we know, but those they might know, and, finally, all those we don't really know by any stretch of the imagination? In the case of David Bowie, beyond a quick prayer for the repose of his soul - the efficacy and importance of which is understood by some of us - there simply was no special reason for me to cast more than a cursory glance at the announcement of his death. As for my cousin, ah, she will be missed, having touched - actually touched - so many of us during her all-too-brief stay on this earth.
Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord. And let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. And may all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
Now I've got nothing against Mr. Bowie, but one wonders how many people commenting on him and his life actually knew anything about the man, beyond some vague or nostalgic familiarity with his work. Then again, perhaps Bowie's parading of an "androgynous" persona over the years explains some of the fervor for his "artistry." Such past displays of gender confusion likely mark him as a kind of pioneer, perhaps even an evangelist, for the current round of aggressively manufactured and promoted sexual identity confusion, the acceptance of which has been added to the list of characteristics that qualify one as being "tolerant" in our self-proclaimed enlightened age.
In any case, with markets taking a breather from their dramatic and disturbing New Year's debut last week, I thought I'd take the opportunity to share something that hit home the very day Mr. Bowie passed on: the death of my cousin, who also died on Sunday. As opposed to the pop icon, my cousin and I shared real bits and pieces of our lives. We weren't very close over the course of our entire lives, but her presence holds a distinctive place during my years growing up.
After a long battle with cancer, another cousin’s email said she “passed peacefully” surrounded by her family. I know them all, those dear people. Our families exchanged visits from time to time when we were kids. Her parents and two sisters were and remain down-to-earth, accessible, delightful folks. Over the years, as we all went our separate ways, the visits stopped. Besides attending marriages, and a few other family events when I ran into them on occasion, my Mom, who stayed in close touch with them, filled in the gaps, keeping me apprised of various milestones in their lives. In recent years, we re-connected mostly attending various funerals, as we've all grown to the age where our elders have departed this earth, one by one. At a recent memorial over the summer, my wife and I spent a good chunk of time with my late cousin and one of her sons, an aspiring singer. Proud mom that she was, she whipped out her tablet and we were able to view and listen to him sing - rather well - the aria "Una Furtive Lagrima" from Donizetti's L'elisir d'Amore. (Ironically, it means "a furtive tear.") Being aware of her struggles with cancer for many years, her lovely appearance and lively conversation belied her condition. She did mention she was due for surgery in the fall, but passed it off in a manner only those who fight bravely against the odds over and over again can manage.
So when we heard she was in intensive care the weeks before Christmas, it was a bit of a shock. Even more so because shortly before her last surgery, she was asked to accompany her mother on an emergency visit to her mother's brother, as he was not responding to phone calls. As it turned out, the superintendent of the apartment building where the brother (my cousin's uncle) lived had to break the lock, revealing their beloved brother and uncle dead on his bed. As if her brave battles with cancer hadn't already proved the point, the incident further demonstrates my cousin's legendary toughness and strength facing life's dangers and pitfalls.
Given all she'd been through (and there was more), I can only hope that she has found peace and relief from all the pain and struggle in the eternal rest that death brings to us all. And, of course, I'm reminded to be thankful for the blessings God has given us, the greatest being those of our family still with us.
I bring all this up to encourage you to think about the endless flood of media - good, bad, and indifferent - that takes up so much of our time and attention these days. Is it really so necessary to be so very much "in touch" in those manufactured ways brought to us by Facetime, Twitter, texting, etc., with not only those we know, but those they might know, and, finally, all those we don't really know by any stretch of the imagination? In the case of David Bowie, beyond a quick prayer for the repose of his soul - the efficacy and importance of which is understood by some of us - there simply was no special reason for me to cast more than a cursory glance at the announcement of his death. As for my cousin, ah, she will be missed, having touched - actually touched - so many of us during her all-too-brief stay on this earth.
Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord. And let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. And may all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
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