It's been a whale of a month for me as a reporter, and I can't think of another time in my life when I have had so many extremes or milestones in the circle of life compressed into such a short time frame.
First, my second niece was born on June 8, right in the midst of one of the most stressful, exhausting stretches of in-depth reporting I have ever been immersed in. I cannot emphasize enough what a blessed escape it was to be virtually kicked out of the office here by my executive editor and sent to Pennsylvania with most of my family to meet Lily Denae. It was an even bigger kick to observe how Lily's big sister, Skylar, was handling the new addition to the family.
What is it about playing and cuddling with small children that completely refreshes you and reminds you there is so much more to life than work, stress, and the struggle for personal or professional 'definition?' I should have learned the lesson in March, back when I crashed at my sister's after a nonstop week-plus of reporting on Pres. Bush's visit here. Skylar could have cared less about all that; she just wanted a dancing partner at 7 a.m. when she was up and at 'em. Or an aunt to take walks with. Or someone to read her "Beauty and the Beast" no less than 7 times at a sitting.
That was Weekend One. It was then followed by the wedding of a friend June 17 in Rochester. As has happened at countless weddings before, I took photos. Hundreds. Before. During. And After the ceremony. Images frozen in my mind, and I confidently hope, on film: the flower girl resting her head upon her father's bent knee, as he was flanked behind by his sister and the maid of honor, peering expectantly through a door; the bride, my gifted, charming, Russian friend finally displaying her spunky side underneath a shade tree; the couple's first dance, arms encircling and foreheads touching.
Then came Weekend Three, this past weekend, during which I covered two graduation ceremonies Friday and Saturday, only to head out immediately after filing copy on the second one to a fatal accident. Talk about extremes: from glittering confetti, exuberant smiles or cheers, from grand gestures, special recognitions and speeches crafted to Communicate Something Important, to standing along a country road where flashing red lights and stoic authorities stood witness to a family's tragedy, while the same warm wind that fought against the yellow police tape surrounding the crash site toyed with the helium "Class of 2006" balloons about 150 yards down the road. While party-goers likely reveled unaware, I watched a son nearly fold over at word of his father's death from police, wishing my car with its obtrusive "PRESS" sign showing through the windshield wasn't so close to where the tiny knot of men tried to console him, hoping I was standing far enough away to not only be respectful, but — please, please — invisible. Mercifully — for his sake, I am sure — the son came no closer.
And not long after, I was in front of the computer, forced to figure out how to communicate something Truly Important.
Now it's Monday and word just came of another life cut short too soon, a student who had graduated the day before he died. Again the reporter is charged to write.
Birth. Marriage. Graduation. Death.
Milestones all and in shockingly rapid succession ... at least for me.
Those days — maybe every day, actually — you can't even try to sum up life and it's a struggle to sum up even part of it.
Is that why we have no option but to simply live it?
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