A lifetime ago, when I worked for my older brother Kelly's construction company, this day of the week was not known as Tuesday. Kelly christened it, "the day after Monday". The rationale, which makes a great deal of sense, is that Monday is not actually the worst day of the week for a great many people who work for a living. A number of us are fortunate enough to have at least Sunday - and in many cases both Sunday and Saturday as "work-free" days. Thus, when we get up for work on Monday, our mind thinks, "Hey, this is not so bad. Last time I did this I was rewarded with a day or two off."
It is only when the alarm clock beckons on Tuesday morning that we fully comprehend the level of the deception. Thus, in the world according to Kelly, the day after Monday is the cruelest day of the week. While acknowledging my own bias on this issue - I mean it is my brother's baby after all - I must say that his logic is irrefutable and his hypothesis is unassailable.
Reinforcing just how right Kelly has been for all of these years, two wonderful families, the Lackland family and the Rinaldo family, will gather this morning less than ten miles apart to bid farewell to their matriarchs. For David, his sister Jennifer, his wife Tessa and his young son, Indy, today's gathering seems incredibly and impossibly unfair as it was a bit more than a year ago that they assembled (along with a multitude of other family members and friends) to say goodbye to David's dad.
In his extraordinary memoir, Downtown: My Manhattan, the great Pete Hamill observed that, "Time itself is long, even if the time of man is short." Today, two families victimized by Time's unrelenting march shall each come together to offer support to one another in this time of sadness. In numbers, there is strength. And it is the collective's shared purpose that gives it strength and ties together the solitary strand of each individual...
...in a manner akin to the buttons on a blouse.