Terri is at Peace. The Pope is Dead. Abigail is 8.

This past week has had an odd and tragic feel to it. Terri Schiavo’s ordeal finally ended, with enough rancor and bitterness and moral agonies among those left behind to last for a long, long time. Pope John Paul II died earlier today, and the cable news outlets are covering it wall-to-wall, non-stop and commercial-free.

Of course, there’s no real breaking news here. The pope was 84 years old and in ill health. He was a man of towering importance in the last half of the 20th Century, and a symbol of love, courage and hope to millions. He is dead. He will remain dead. But still, the cable news outlets must keep on breathlessly reporting, as if there will be new developments. There will not be. At least until the Cardinals get together to elect a successor. Then, there will be breaking news once again. But the Pope will remain dead.

Today is cloudy and rainy here in Pennsylvania, with high creeks and flood watches. And although the weather this week has been tentatively spring-like, slushy, wet snow will push its way back for a last hurrah tonight, as we set the clocks ahead and look forward to the return of life and color.

And today is the 8th birthday of my exceptional niece Abigail. Her maternal grandmother had a very nice and very expensive playhouse built for her. It hasn’t yet been delivered, and I took Abby to see it today. Her reaction was just as one would hope: Her eyes became wide and she said, “I must be the only kid on the face of the Earth to get such a neat birthday present.” Then she said, and I’m not making this up, “I don’t know how to express my gratefulness.” Little realizing, of course, that she just had.