Summary of “Reinventing Grief in an Era of Enforced Isolation”

Father Michael, a priest my family has never met, in a city we never identified, gave my father a version of the last rites over the telephone on the night of April 4th. My father, John Collins, had received a diagnosis of acute myeloid leukemia in January.
There were cancelled appointments, appointments rescheduled for Zoom; Zoom appointments cancelled, too, when my father’s new, outpatient doctors, having determined that it was too risky for him to continue commuting to Durham, acknowledged that they couldn’t very well devise a treatment plan without being able to physically examine him.
On the afternoon of April 3rd, my father entered a hospice center.
Her friend’s sister-in-law’s acquaintance finally found a willing Father Michael somewhere in California.
I called my mother at 6:19, and she told me that my father had died.
When we’d last pushed for a prognosis, in early March, my father’s doctors had guessed that he had somewhere between a year and eighteen months left to live.
Even if I made it home in time to see my father, I might transmit the coronavirus to my mother, who is seventy, or to other people.
As I spoke to my mother on the morning of the fifth, a nurse came into the room to tell her that my father’s possessions-white socks, a phone charger-would be returned to her.

The orginal article.

Summary of “Unholy Act”

Detectives followed up on hundreds of leads, including the boasts of a tourist at the Highway Grill, in nearby Edinburg, who told a waitress that he had killed Irene, warning, “You are next.” Then came what seemed to be a break in the case; a woman identifying herself as Irene called home and pleaded for help, claiming she had been kidnapped and was being held in a motel room in the neighboring town of Hidalgo.
Had Irene hailed from Southtown, where most of McAllen’s Hispanic population lived, the investigation into her murder might not have been so dogged.
On the night that Irene disappeared, Father Feit had assisted the clergy at Sacred Heart, hearing confessions and taking part in midnight mass.
Father Feit’s account of what took place that night shifted in the weeks after Irene’s murder.
In a later telling, the priest said that he had heard her confession in the rectory-viewed by the other priests as highly inappropriate-after Irene had expressed a fear of being overheard.
“The priest at Our Lady of Sorrows said he knew that rumors were going around about a priest being involved in Irene’s murder,” she said.
“We pursued numerous suspects: Irene’s friends, ex-boyfriends, family members, other priests,” says Jaramillo’s lieutenant, Tony Leal.
The first hint that a jury would not hear the case came in July 2002, when the Brownsville Herald ran a front-page story on Irene’s murder and the suspicion that continued to surround John Feit.

The orginal article.

Summary of “A Personal History by David Sedaris: Unbuttoned”

These would take bites out of my bladder, which would then be sent to a lab and biopsied.
I’d hoped to stick out in the radiology wing, to be too youthful or hale to fit in looking around the waiting area, I saw that everyone was roughly my age, and either was bald or had gray hair.
The pain was a giveaway, as was the blood that came out when I peed.
The urologist we’d come to see in Paris looked over the results of the scan I’d just undergone and announced that they revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
After taking everything into consideration, the French doctor, who was young and handsome, like someone who’d play a doctor on TV, decided it wasn’t the right time to take little bites out of my bladder.
The head of his bed had been raised, so he was almost in a sitting position, his open mouth a dark, seemingly bottomless hole and his hands stretched out before him.
“I figured you’d rally as soon as I spent a fortune on last-minute tickets,” I said, knowing that if the situation were reversed he’d have stayed put, at least until a discount could be worked out.
All he’s ever cared about is money, so it had hurt me to learn, a few years earlier, that he’d cut me out of his will.

The orginal article.

Summary of “‘I was a bad influence on the Beatles’: James Taylor on Lennon, love and recovery”

James Taylor looks out at the sprawling London skyline.
“There’s a mysterious energy to someone who lives with a tragedy like this,” Taylor says of his father.
Taylor began playing guitar in his teens, strumming along to his parents’ record collection: Harry Belafonte, Nina Simone, Judy Garland, Lead Belly.
“As a kid, his uncle said to him: ‘If you’re a Taylor and you touch an opiate, you’re finished. You can just kiss your entire life goodbye.'” His father’s family had owned a sanatorium, the Broadoaks asylum in Morganton, North Carolina.
Taylor boarded a flight to London shortly after New Year’s Day 1968.
A year later, after being released from his Apple contract, Taylor went to a rehab facility and moved to Laurel Canyon in Los Angeles, a deep-green crease that runs through the Hollywood Hills – which was becoming a haven for the young, politically aware and creative.
Taylor has four children: two with his first wife, Carly Simon, whom he married in 1972.
James Taylor’s new album American Standard is released on 28 February.

The orginal article.

Summary of “Life, in Dog Years”

If Dad said a dog was tired or hungry or even angry, he might mean that he was tired or hungry or a tad pissed off, which was as mad as he ever got.
The most famous example of this was when, having had too good a time at my brother Ed’s wedding, Dad said he and Mom had to leave to walk the dog.
She’d been married to my dad for nearly five decades, so she was well acquainted with Dad’s tendency to assign her the role of bad cop.
Which is probably why they ended up with the dog that consistently took second place in my tests: a Welsh corgi, described on the American Kennel Club’s website as “Affectionate, smart, alert”; “Among the most agreeable of all small housedogs”; and a “Lively little herder who is … companionable without being needy.” I’m not sure that my mother ever realized that she had found what might be, for Dad, the perfect second wife.
“You know,” Dad said to me one day, “When Wesley dies, I’d like to donate a water fountain in his name.” In the car, Wesley sometimes rode shotgun, but more often he wheedled his way onto Dad’s lap, his head out the window, tongue flapping, a doggy driving hazard my father stubbornly ignored.
When his doctor asked if he was remembering to feed the dog at night and I wasn’t sure of the answer, I knew there was trouble ahead. Dad was 85.Then, at the end of the summer of 2013, Dad fell and broke his elbow, an injury almost exclusive to drunken young men and the elderly, the orthopedist said.
As the years passed, I managed to get her back to her sleek, svelte self, despite the fact that Dad kept feeding her from the table even when he promised not to.
On the way to the funeral, I got a call from a woman who had worked for Dad for many years.

The orginal article.

Summary of “Fact or Fiction: Do Babies Resemble Their Fathers More Than Their Mothers?”

A common bit of parenting folklore holds that babies tend to look more like their fathers than their mothers, a claim with a reasonable evolutionary explanation.
The paternal-resemblance hypothesis got some scientific backing in 1995, when a study in Nature by Nicholas Christenfeld and Emily Hill of the University of California, San Diego, showed that people were much better at matching photos of one-year-old children with pictures of their fathers than with photos of their mothers.
Some studies have even found that newborns tend to resemble their mothers more than their fathers.
In a photo-matching trial with pictures of one-, three- and five-year-old children and their parents, subjects identified mothers and fathers equally well.
“Our research, on a much larger sample of babies than Christenfeld and Hill’s, shows that some babies resemble their father more, some babies resemble their mother more, and most babies resemble both parents to about the same extent,” says Paola Bressan, a psychologist at the University of Padova in Italy who co-authored the 2004 study.
Bressan added that, to the best of her knowledge, “No study has either replicated or supported” the 1995 finding that babies preferentially resemble their fathers.
Two other studies in Evolution & Human Behavior, one in 2000 and one in 2007, found that newborns actually look more like their mothers than their fathers in the first three days of their lives, as judged by unrelated assessors.
“The bias in how mothers remark resemblance does not reflect actual resemblance and may be an evolved or conditioned response to assure domestic fathers of their paternity,” the researchers wrote.

The orginal article.

Summary of “The Disobedient Children of Monsters”

All 16 accused were ex-police officers like Analía Kalinec’s father or ex-military officers, who held civilians captive in secret, government-sanctioned detention centers.
With one exception: Analía Kalinec sat with the victims.
Over a year after the trial began, Eduardo Kalinec and 14 others were convicted of “Homicide, unlawful deprivation of liberty, torture,” and because they were public servants, “Abusing their position.” Kalinec was given life without parole.
Analía Kalinec with her son Bruno during the Día de la Memoria, or Day of Remembrance for Truth and Justice protest in 2018.In many ways, Kalinec was an anomaly: By speaking out within her family, she was breaking the tacit “Code of silence” that is sacrosanct in such military and police environments.
Like Kalinec, Furió’s father had been arrested for crimes committed on behalf of the military in the 1970s and 1980s, and been sentenced to life in prison in 2012.They knew immediately that they had to meet.
A few days later, Kalinec spotted a viral article written by another daughter of a genocida, speaking of her experience and protesting the 2×1 ruling.
Members of Historias Desobedientes hold the organization’s banner during a protest in May 2018.”We inherited a history, a history that came to us from our grandparents and our parents,” says Kalinec.
At a long table at the front, Analía Kalinec, Liliana Furió and other members of Historias Desobedientes presented their collective to the room and read excerpts from their new book, Disobedient Writings, which sold out before the end of the day.

The orginal article.

Summary of “Mourning at the Magic Kingdom”

Though my husband handled the lion’s share of the parenting on that trip, I still felt distracted every time one of the kids complained or talked back or picked a pointless argument.
For the first time in days, our older daughter no longer looked moody, or one breath away from throwing up.
In the end I found my space to begin grieving not at home with my mother, nor at my father’s funeral, but on our first day at the Magic Kingdom.
A dear friend of mine happened to be in Orlando at the same time we were because her grandmother, who lived there, had just died.
Despite the ravages of grief and the common cold, most of the time I was happy, because my kids were, their first experience with death tempered by sturdy youthful resiliency, the love of my husband’s extended family, the thrill of a new and welcome adventure.
With limited time, limited vacation, limited resources, we did the best we could.
If I’d known how little time we had, if I’d known my father would die suddenly at 67, I might have made different choices.
God knows I didn’t want to lose anything else after my father died-not precious time with my kids, certainly not the opportunity to see them having the time of their lives.

The orginal article.

Summary of “Decades After Northern Ireland’s “Troubles,” Families of the Dead are Still Seeking Answers”

On the aerial map of a field in Belfast, Northern Ireland, which hangs in her office, Janet Donnelly, Murphy’s daughter, can pinpoint the exact location where it happened in August 1971: A red pin, marking the spot where he was shot, then cried out to his friend, “Dessie, I’m hit!” and fell.
For nearly twenty years, Donnelly has been trying to prove her father’s account.
In the years that followed the end of the Troubles, many people like Donnelly became amateur cold-case sleuths, trying to get the truth about their loved ones’ deaths.
Back on the other side of the city, Donnelly sat in the makeshift investigative unit she’d created specifically for the purpose of investigating her father’s murder.
“One witness told us the soldiers had broken into the local butcher’s shop and taken knives,” Donnelly says, rifling through a filing cabinet as she talks, looking for a document.
Joseph Murphy’s father, Donnelly’s grandfather, had been a British Army veteran himself, having served in WWI and WWII. Even after Joseph’s murder, Donnelly’s mother insisted on helping soldiers wounded in the local area.
Donnelly searched for him, without luck, wanting to thank him for what he’d done and what he’d tried to do for her father.
“We sit round a table and somebody’s father could have been in the UVF , somebody else’s in the IRA, whatever – but we all understand each other’s grief.” Carberry’s father, Stan Carberry Sr., an IRA volunteer, was shot dead when Stan was eight.

The orginal article.

Summary of “Mourning My Only Brother … and Then Learning I Had Another All Along”

Another took Polaroid selfies in our swimming pool when we weren’t home, so I first thought Tony must be one of Dad’s patients – a crazy person claiming to be his therapist’s illegitimate child.
Tony’s posts were the kinds of things I’d see on my friends’ walls: a turntable playing a ’70s tune, a homemade tortilla browning in a cast iron pan, a picture of a camper van.
My father’s sister, my Aunt Carol, asked if she could friend Tony.
Tony told me that, growing up, his mom never talked about his Bio Dad. Tony always thought that his dad’s name was Stephen because his middle name is Stephen.
Perhaps not wanting to run into Tony and his mother at the grocery store was a reason as well.
At one point, after making Tony laugh with a Matthew story, I said, “He would have liked you.” And Tony said, “Too late.”
He’d asked to come, and Tony agreed, though Dad had barely said a word to me about the Tony situation.
Tony messaged me that June to tell me he was knee-deep in the book.

The orginal article.