How it Was

Flying this past week has made me think about a letter I recently came upon written almost 100 years ago to one Mary Ann Maloney by her second cousin Mary Ellen back in Ireland.Mary Ann’s folks came here in the 1850s while Mary Ellen’s stayed behind . It is clear from what she says that no word had passed between them for years and  I find such pathos in that. Pathos because so much happened in Mary Ellen’s life since last the two were in contact. Pathos because so much has happened in Mary Ann’s life too that her cousin does not know.I only know because I lived with Mary Ann for the last ten years of her life, when she was a tiny ancient thing who sat all day in her rocking chair, reading the paper and making tart remarks. She was born here in the States just 14 months after the assassination of President Lincoln, to set things in history, and her cousin was her contemporary. And now to the latter’s note, which begins with an all too-human glimpse:“Dearest Mary Ann: I hope you are keeping strong and also your sister and brother.”How could she know that Mary Ann’s sister died in her sleep at only 42, leaving behind five children who never got over the loss? That her brother fell in love with a woman not his wife, had a secret child by her and soon after saw his whole life explode like a landmine beneath him?Then she gives her own news:“Thomas and myself are keeping fine, however my other three brothers died, Patrick at 19, Lawrence at 27 and Richard at 22, and also my only sister Kathleen at 16 years.”“Adn now, dear cousin I think I have told you all,“ she calmly ends. “I would certainly love to see you all but I suppose that will never happen so Thomas and myself join in wishing you and all our cousins a very happy Christmas and prosperous New Year.”  And she signs it “With love, your effectionate cousin Mary Ellen.”How hard to hear such news so late and all together like this!  I read these lines and feel once more how lucky we are compared to people only a scant ten decades ago. We cross the ocean and call when we land - or we Skype or go on Facebook to chat and send as many pictures as we like. They turned away from the port in a long echoing silence.I thought of this last week as I sat  stalled in holiday traffic, in the car and at the airport, warm and comfy and sipping a fresh hot drink. I'm going to try to continue thinking of it too, right on through the holidays to come.

Bound for county Cork: my grandfather in 1899, one of the few lucky enough to visit the old country