Michael’s daughter, Jana Novak, writes in her blog Murphy’s Cabin about sisters, connections, and uncertainty amid the tragic bombings of the Boston Marathon on Monday, April 15.
April 17, 2013
I was the typical impatient customer. Standing in the middle of the Apple store in the mall with my dead lap top, leaning against one of the high counters, actually tapping my foot, and repeatedly checking my wrist watch. I had arrived early, and yet here it was, minutes creeping by my actual appointment time, and still nothing.
My cell phone rang — my aunt. But with hopes still high that any minute an employee would come up and whisk me off to the actual Genius Bar to save me from the “grey screen of death”, I quieted the ring and ignored the call. Time seemed to continue to crawl by, my foot continued to tap, and I shrugged and checked the voice mail message.
It was short, brief. Only 9 seconds: “Hi Jana. It’s [your aunt]. It’s about 3:15. If you get this message soon, give me a call real quick. Thanks.” At first blush, it seemed simple, straightforward. At first blush, it was a “if it were something important, she would have said so.” At first blush, it seemed like nothing…