Month: August 2009

Pain that makes us most aware of self

“Could it be because it reminds us that we are alive, of our mortality, of our individual souls- which, after all, we are too afraid to surrender but yet make us feel more miserable than any other thing? But isn’t it also pain that often makes us most aware of self? It is a terrible thing to learn as a child that one is a being separate from the world, that no one and no thing hurts along with one’s burned tongues and skinned knees, that one’s aches and pains are all one’s own. Even more terrible, as we grow old, to learn that no person, no matter how beloved, can ever truly understand us. Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that’s why we’re so anxious to lose them, don’t you think?”

– Donna Tartt, The Secret History

Ted Kennedy

Ted Kennedy’s death touched me deeply, as it did many people. He is certainly a mythic figure for Americans, and probably for those of us from Massachusetts in particular. I wish I knew more of Kennedy’s legislative legacy and particular political achievements. I don’t. I do know, however, that he emerged from a life of immense privilege to support those whose voices are underrepresented. His persistent and patient backing of healthcare reform, civil rights, and efforts at creating economic well-being is laudable. I have great respect for someone raised in an affluent environment who turns those advantages to the greater good. That Kennedy, despite a privileged upbringing, dedicated himself to the needs of those whose lives were very different, is the thing I admire most about him.

Beyond that, though, the tall man with the shock of white hair was a walking embodiment of human frailty and greatness. His entire life was circumscribed by early mistakes, by his restless streak and personal demons. Isn’t Ted Kennedy, in fact, the average person writ large? Full of great charisma and courage and also deep flaws and uncontrollable appetites. Forced to redefine his life and who he is because of events both in and out of his control.

Perhaps this is why so many Americans resonate with Ted Kennedy. We see in him, magnified, our own struggle to reconcile our weaknesses with our strengths and our own desire to make something of our lives, despite mistakes and tragedies. We identify with a person blazing with profound sadness, flaws, and faith and wrestling with unanswered (and unanswerable) questions. We desperately ache to transcend our own limitations in order to be a better version of ourselves for those we love. For me at least, this is what is the most compelling thing about Ted Kennedy. His humanity, in all of its complex beauty and pain, was somehow visible and tangible to all. His struggles with it defined his life, as most of ours will too, in their own smaller ways.

Fundamentally, Ted Kennedy’s is a great story of redemption. He found his way back, with halting steps and spectacular flubs, to a place where he contributed much and ultimately became the flag-bearer neither he nor family expected him to be. As Norman J. Ornstein was quoted as saying in the final paragraph of the New York Times obituary, “He was the survivor. He was not a shining star that burned brightly and faded away. He had a long, steady glow. When you survey the impact of the Kennedys on American life and politics and policy, he will end up by far being the most significant.”

Buck with hat


Whit last week. You can see his sister hiding under a towel on the couch. This is just another regular night at my house.

A heart, a gift, and wonder

My father-in-law had a heart transplant on November 26, 2002. I think about it all the time, but especially around Thanksgiving. Grace was born on October 26, 2002. That was, needless to say, an emotional and scary time. I was in the deep dark hole of postpartum depression, Matt was at the hospital every evening after a horrible day at more-people-laid-off-every-day work, and Grace was screaming her head off 20 hours a day. Oh, and John was at MGH where he was basically going to leave with a heart or in a coffin. It was not a fun period.

He received a heart a dark, damp November night. There are many amazing things about that day. His surprise granddaughter who is named Grace for many reasons, not the least of which is her appearance being an act of grace for its correlation with his illness, was one month old. It was two days before Thanksgiving. It was also his and my mother-in-law’s wedding anniversary.

It is truly a miracle, the fact that someone else’s heart beats in his chest. All we know is that the donor was 28 years old (the age I was at the time of the transplant). And I imagine that the donor’s death was likely untimely and tragic. But oh what a gift they gave. I was always a organ donor but am now an evangelist for the cause. And please, everybody, know that just having it on your license is not enough. Your next of kin and family need to know your wishes, because it is they who will be in the situation of making that call should the worst case scenario occur.

It is an absolute miracle. I wish I had better words that didn’t sound trite, but I don’t. He was released from the hospital after two weeks, which shocked me at the time (seriously? four days for your c-section and two weeks for your heart transplant?). It was a slow road back to feeling good but honestly his quality of life has been excellent.

So excellent that I often forget to remember what tremendous good fortune we have had. I remember that first Thanksgiving, Matt, Grace and I drove to my family’s big (usually 30+ Meads around tables) celebration in Marion. We were both shell-shocked, from the transplant and the post partum and the sleeplessness and the sheer earthquake quality of the last month. Everybody was incredibly gentle, with kind and generous words about John (at that point he was not even out of anesthesia yet, and much remained uncertain). The theme, though, over and over, was “Wow, you have a lot to be thankful for.” And I’m not proud of this, but I remember thinking: No we don’t. Are you crazy? To be in this situation in the first place?

Oh how selfish those thoughts were, I see that now. Of course we were – and remain – wildly lucky, fortunate, and blessed. And , yes, yes, deeply, deeply grateful. I am only ashamed that I am not more actively thankful every single day of what a gift it is to wake up in the morning and have an able body and a sound mind. It is so easy to lose track of that good fortune, to dwell only on my anxieties and fears and issues and small pains. I try to remember, to bring myself back to the core of gratitude, to the awareness of how hugely blessed I am.

Today, I guess, is one of those days, where I am trying to tug myself back to the perspective I know I ought to have. One of those days that I am aware of how our everyday lives are absolutely laced with miracles. May I learn to remember this more often. As my father-in-law, with someone’s extraordinary gift beating in his chest should remind me.

A letter on the first day of kindergarten

Lisa Belkin at Motherlode today published a letter from a mother to her son, marking the occasion of his starting kindergarten.

I read it with tears streaming down my face. And then I remembered that on precisely the same occasion last year I wrote a letter to Grace. Rereading that made me cry even more.

That day feels like yesterday, and in two weeks I will send both of them off together to the Morse Building, Grace to first grade and Whit to Beginners.

Another year gone by, both endless and so fast my head spins.