Januaries

 January 1, 1978  My mother had a heart attack, at the age of 72.  She was mashing potatoes for New Year's Day dinner when she suffered sharp and debilitating chest pain. We were all getting ready to go to her house when Helen called. Ma spent about a week in St. Mary's Hospital. I remember driving home from visiting her at the hospital one  day, and at the end of Oakwood Avenue, was overcome by the deepest grief I'd ever experienced, up to then. I'd worried about my mother's health ever since my childhood, but now it was real, and I felt that if I lost her, nothing would ever again  matter.

 January 2, 2008  Shattered shopping trip.  Dorothy had stayed here the holiday weekend, as she usually had of late. It was morning and we were getting ready to go shopping, for her birthday and post-Christmas. The phone rang. Her doctor had called to notify her that the routine testing she had undergone over the last 10 years was concerning. The tumor marker  reading of her blood test was elevated and she was to call the office for further testing. The beginning of the end this time.

January 3, 2003  My Ca diagnosis, which was followed by 3 separate surgeries, and a full course of chemotherapy and radiation, which ended at the end of November. Dorothy was source of unfailing personal support and she also connected me with Dr. Pietracola and Dr. Mastrianni. I could not have done it by myself. She  made the arrangements for me.

January 17, 1962 (date unsure) Uncle Joseph Sylvester Madigan died, unexpectedly in his room in our house. He'd lived with us, in his brother's home, ever since he'd lost his young wife Phoebe to cancer, his eleven-year-old son to drowning in the Hoosick River, and his arm in an accident at the plant in the Powder Mills.

January 20, 1966   My father, Charles Anthony Madigan died suddenly and unexpectedly at home. I was sitting on the floor in front of the heater, correcting papers for my Cambridge Central School English classes. He was sitting in his usual chair by the window, reading the paper, doing the Word Jumble, as usual. He went upstairs: I went to bed some time later.  Early in the morning, I was awakened by my mother's voice, calling for me and Joseph to come downstairs. She had heard Susie, the mini-pin who was the only dog I'd ever known to be close to my father, barking wildly, had gone downstairs and found my father dead.