The Loss of Elizabeth Edwards

 

I was all fired up this morning, so angry about the protests planned for the funeral of Elizabeth Edwards today. I am still angry, still fired up, but I realized that I don't want to give words or white space here to the protesters.

I am so saddened by Elizabeth Edward's passing, so sad for the pain she endured in her life. I believe there are a few people that tread through life exemplifying grace in ways so obvious that the word is used over and over again to describe them until it becomes synonymous with their name. Elizabeth was one of those people.

Those of us not in the public eye can say we can “just imagine” what it is like to live through a crisis publicly. But truthfully, it is too much too imagine. Your worst pain, your worst nightmares all out there for strange eyes to see and judge. Pictures that last a lifetime in your head and on paper and computer screens blasted out with headlines that are somehow your life.

In the last years of her life, I am sad to say that this was her life. And still, she remained Elizabeth—human, real, resilient, and always showing grace. I believe she leaves a legacy for her children that will outshine all of the headlines, the controversy, the pain. 

Elizabeth’s life was a lesson in devotion and loyalty. First to her husband and his numerous campaigns both of which she believed in deeply. Her devotion to her children was always evident through her words and actions, and in her oldest daughter Cate’s words about her mother. Cate will deliver her mother’s eulogy today.

I struggle with my own beliefs when things like this happen. I can’t understand why someone like Elizabeth had to endure losing a son (which is enough tragedy for a lifetime), then endure battling with cancer, robbing her of time with her remaining children, and then the betrayal by her husband. I can’t make sense of it. I can’t find a way to say—that makes sense. Because it doesn’t.

I just know I am sad this morning that someone who made a difference in the world, a positive difference, is gone. 

And there is little grace in that.

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Ashes to Ashes

Anyone who knows me knows that my favorite pastime is reading. It is something beyond a pastime actually, it is probably one of my greatest passions. I love to read, to talk about books and what I have read, and I simply adore recommending books to friends and even strangers. I am that somewhat annoying person you see in bookstores going up to store customers and putting a book in their hand, when they are contemplating something else in a particular section. (I can't help myself).

But, as well as my friends know this, only a few know that in and around 1996, I was not that way at all. I had, somewhere down the line, lost that love for reading. And then, a friend recommended that I read Angela's Ashes, by Frank McCourt. I swear I can remember vividly reading parts of that book to this day, curled up on my couch in Atlanta, where I lived at the time. I thought it was about the most perfect book I had ever read. Angela's Ashes made me remember why I had once loved reading, it awakened that passion in me, and made me seek out more books, more reading, and I haven't slowed down since. Reading the books I have read has enriched my life, and it is one of my greatest pleasures.

So, Frank McCourt gave that gift back to me. How amazing is that?

And today, I got a news bulletin from NPR that Frank McCourt had died. It made my stomach drop. He was 78, and I know lived a very full, rewarding life. But still, it made me sad. What a loss for the literary world and his fans.

Something else I often do, especially more recently, is write to authors of books I have read. The outcome has been some amazing communications I never expected from quite famous authors. I am angry with myself because I never wrote to Frank McCourt and let him know that gift he gave me. I know he received plenty of accolades, and surely didn't miss the one from me. But, I still wish I had written.

Today, Angela's Ashes is still my favorite book. I have read countless books since then, but I will always have a soft spot for that title, and it's author, Frank McCourt.

If you are reading this post and haven't read Angela's Ashes, I command you to do so! It is a beautiful memoir of Frank McCourt's childhood in poverty in Ireland, but is so funny in parts, you will laugh out loud and startle those around you. It is also touching, inspirational, and beautifully written. What more could you ask for?

Read more about Frank here and here.

Buy the book Angela's Ashes here.

Photo courtesy NPR.org

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