Long haul

The tough part about big change is not the change itself - that requires adreniline and ingenuity, you have to have your wits about you and rise to the moment - but gradually settling in for the long haul.

My friend whose wife died last Sunday told me that he is just beginning to understand that she isn't coming back. Or, in terms he, a doctor, would put it, this new situation is irreversible.

Joan Didon, in her powerful recent book about her husband's sudden death, "The Year of Magical Thinking" describes the weird experience of being a rational person - she remembers one of the EMTs describing her to another as "a cool cookie" - but she can't stop herself from doing what she calls magical thinking. She doesn't want to give away her husband's shoes because he will need them when he returns.

Her rational, logical mind knows better, but some dimension she has never encountered in herself before, persists in creating scenarios that deny the finality of what has happened.

Our Vermont neighbor's 8 year old daughter was killed in a car crash this time last year. Her parents' house is now a shrine to her. Some of the other neighbors have worried that they are going to get stuck in this painful place, be unable to get on with their lives.

But what does that mean, "get on with the rest of our life?" We have coined the term "closure" for what we mean by "get over it." My experience is that we never get over it. Why should we? That doesn't have to mean our productive, even happy days are over. It means that we now carry a scar, a place where our love for that person pierced us - our psyche and even our body - and we are marked forever.

That's what takes getting used to. And we do. But getting used to it is not getting over it. It is incorporating it into the new reality.

Work Is Done

My friend about whom I have been writing recently, died yesterday at mid-afternoon.

Her heart finally accepted the verdict her consciousness had made a couple of days ago. So they removed her oxxygen assist, provided sufficient morphine for her to relax, not struggle, into that ecstasy we fight against our whole lives, and we waited.

For perhaps an hour her breath slowed and grew more shallow. Her daughter stroked her arm and cheek and assured her and thanked her.

In a moment too subtle to accurately record she seemed to draw a tiny breath followed almost immediately by a nearly imperceptible exhale. Then, as if to trust the very universe with her, she never took another. We all looked at each other, wept, smiled, said good bye, kissed her one last time. And left.

As we left her room her daughter said, "You know, I'm not scared to die any more."

One more huge gift to the wonderful woman to whom she gave life, and to an anxious world.

work Is Done

She died yesterday afternoon.

Her husband, my doctor and longest standing friend, consulted with his colleagues and they agreed she had done all they could ask.

So they resolved to let her heart join her consciousness in whatever ecstasy it is we experience when our struggling minds release us to some state we fear and long for. We all wish we might know more about it before we are called on to do it, but this is the order in which these things come.

With a little help from morphene, her heart accepted the verdict the rest of her had embraced a couple of days earlier.

Her husband and I have been friends for 50 years, since we were 16 year old schooboys and she was his steady girlfriend.

Her daughter held her hand as she drew her final short easy breath. As we left her room her daughter said she was no longer afraid of dying.

One final glorious gift among so many she had given to so many.

Work Is Done

My friend about whom I have been writing died yesterday afternoon.

Her stout heart finally accepted the verdict her consciousness had resolved a couple of days earlier, that she was finished. So her consciousness rested in whatever ecstasy a combination of morphene and floating unawareness may provide as we near our end.

She cheered on her grieving family as long as she was able, never complaining, never even seeming to mind - unless one of them said they minded - that she was going to die.

Her daughter was holding her hand when her heart finally stopped. Her daughter thanked her for being brave and wonderful. On the way out of her room her daughter said she was no longer afraid to die.

The last of countless gifts her mother gave to her.

Work Is Done

My friend died at 3:36 yesterday afternoon.

Or her heart finally agreed with her consciousness which had made its decision a couple of days before so she had floated in that ecstasy we can only imagine until our time comes. She was supported by morpehe while she patiently waited for her heart to catch up with her.

I have rarely known a family more generous in giving permission, while their hearts were breaking, for someone to die. She made it easier, never complaining, never struggling, cheering them on so long as she was able. They had the hardest work. She had done hers.

Her husband and I have known each other 50 years, since we were 16 year old schoolboys and she was his girlfriend.

Her daughter held her hand as her heart finally stopped. On the way out of her room her daughter said being there had made her lose her fear of dying.

Quite a gift among the countless others this lady has given her.

Work Is Done

Yesterday afternoon at 3:26 my friend finished her work. She had been doing work none of us can imagine until it is our turn. Her husband and children have rallied round her, encouraging her, acting as her cheering section even while their hearts were breaking. And, so long as she was able to communicate, she communicated only good cheer for them as if they were the ones doing all the hard work.

And I think they were.

She finished her work a couple of days ago. It took her those final two days to persuade her heart it was all right to stop. She had released her consciousness and slipped into whatever blissful state it is to be physically alive but have your mind and consciousness floating in morphene.

Brave family. Brave lady. Dear friend. Her husband and I have been friends since we were 16, 50 years ago, and she was his girlfriend even then.

I don't know when it has been more clear that the time had come. Or when a family, heartbroken, has given such grace-filled permission to accept that the time has come.

Her daughter who held her hand as her heart finally agreed, said she had lost her fear of dying. Her mother's final gift.

Work Is Done

Yesterday afternoon at 3:26 my friend finished her work. She had been doing work none of us can imagine until it is our turn. Her husband and children have rallied round her, encouraging her, acting as her cheering section even while their hearts were breaking. And, so long as she was able to communicate, she communicated only good cheer for them as if they were the ones doing all the hard work.

And I think they were.

She finished her work a couple of days ago. It took her those final two days to persuade her heart it was all right to stop. She had released her consciousness and slipped into whatever blissful state it is to be physically alive but have your mind and consciousness floating in morphene.

Brave family. Brave lady. Dear friend. Her husband and I have been friends since we were 16, 50 years ago, and she was his girlfriend even then.

I don't know when it has been more clear that the time had come. Or when a family, heartbroken, has given such grace-filled permission to accept that the time has come.

Her daughter who held her hand as her heart finally agreed, said she had lost her fear of dying. Her mother's final gift.

Hangin In

My friend continues her heroic hold-out against whatever organism is trying to do her in. We are now in day four and she still hangs in the balance between a stout heart and sodden lungs. I know you will lend her your energy.

In the meantime two fascinating matters have caught my attention and I pass them on to you.

The first is an article in the upcoming Sunday NY Times Magazine about Google and the internet in China. It can be found at http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/23/magazine/23google.html?th&emc=th
and it raises fascinating questions about free speech and human rights as we Americans understand them and now seek to practice and model them around the world. What the article's author never mentions is that our rather self-righteous notion of how free we are is not shared by everyone around the world. The Chinese interviewed for the article insisted that the search engines understand there are limits to what they can talk about and provide access to, just as we do in this country. I commend the article as providing a window into the complexities of the global marketplace.

The other is a 50 minute video of the legendary scientist and teacher, Richard Feynman, being interviewed in 1981. I have read some of his writing and much more - since I am not a trained scientist - about him and have always wished I might have heard him at least once myself before he died. It was better than I imagined. It is worth 50 minutes of your life. Just go into a quiet room and settle down. They will be the fastest 50 minutes of your life.

Return

A return to politics while we wait the outcome of my dear friend's valiant heart struggling to stay ahead of her filling lungs.

A friend who is as partisan a Republican as I am a Democrat, recently emailed me his woe that there are no statesmen (or women, but it would be unmanly of a Republican to give in to non-sexist language) on the horizon, in either party. He says that Democrats are so busy hating Bush that they are blind to the many acheivements of his tenure.

Putting aside for the moment my belief that Bush has set us back in almost every way - with the possible exception of thoughtful compassion about the vexing matter of immigration - I said that it is amazing to me that, after the treatment Bill Clinton received at the hands of his political opponents, any Republican could whine about personal attacks on George Bush.

When I lived in Washington, 1969-1973, I was surprised to see how politicians who vilified each other in public were often close personal friends. I believe the last remnant of that is the friendship of Senators Orin Hatch and Teddy Kennedy.

Deomcrats and Republicans have always attacked each other, often personally in public, but the end of cooperation and personal friendship may have come with Newt Gingrich's nasty campaign that returned the majority to the Republicans in the congressional mid-term elections during Clinton's first term.

The real issue, I believe, is money. Campaign finance money. So long as the sums of money are as astronomical as they have become, it is too tempting for ordinary humans to resist a chance to get in on the big feed.

Although it violates the Republican canon about unfettered free enterprise - a myth in practice anyway - the answer is public financing of political campaigns. I sign off on a dollar when paying my taxes, which goes into a public pot from which candidates who qualify with sufficient support can draw. Once the candidiates have equal amounts of money, instead of pandering to a few rich donors, they will be able to focus on why, besides filling their own pockets, they want to be elected.

Vigil II

My friend about whom I wrote yesterday, hovering bravely on the edge of death, having been resolute about wanting sedation, not intubation, is still hanging on today. And despite the unidentified organism that has been filling her lungs and causing her breathing to be so labored, her stout heart has refused to yield.

Her husband, a doctor, and her other doctors are all amazed. They didn't expect her to last the night.

My wife, who has the same sort of grit as this woman, told me not to count her out.

Here is what is awesome about all this:

She is ready to die. Not once has she freaked out since being told she has a lethal diagnosis which only a tiny percentage of people - after awful treatment - survive.

"OK," she said, "let's get started."

I asked her early on if she was scared.

"No. I was scared when I watched my parents go through this, but I feel calm."

I have been accused, fairly, of being preoccupied with death. My friend has showed me what I have been eager to know. In order to live fully, bravely, give up fighting off death. It will find us sooner or later. Until then, live.

Vigil

My longest standing friend and his wife - we have all known each other since we were 16 year old high school students - are on a vigil. Or I suppose it is more accurate to say her husband, children, friends and I are on a vigil. She was diagnosed with acute leukemia a year or so ago, has undergone massive treatments - including harvesting and reintroducing her own stem cells - and despite having responded like the brick she has always been, she now lies seemingly near death from some unidentified organism that is causing her lungs to fill with fluid.

Her husband, my doctor, called this morning to say he doubted she would last through the day. I went to the hospital to say good bye. And she rallied.

Or maybe she rallied. Mabe it is the steroids.

But maybe she will recover from this episode. It's not a relapse of her leukemia; her blood counts show she is continuing to make the necessary cells.

But can she fight off such a massive attack as this one is proving to be?

Last night the two of them had a serious conversation about whether to provide massive life support - intubate her and put her on a respirator if her lungs continue to flood. They decided no. And they told their doctor their mantra: sedation but no intubation.

Brave. And smart. The doctor told them he was relieved they had made that decision.

How to say enough when the end has come? Hard duty. But these brave people are doing it in a way I wish we could get out to this over medicated culture which spends 75% of its medical dollars in the last few weeks of life.

This morning when I went into her room, she opened her eyes and smiled and called me by name. When the nurse came to put something in her IV line she wanted to know what it was and which doctor had ordered it. This from a woman who was struggling for every breath.

It's not a pipe dream, this idea of keeping your wits about you as you near death. No, it's not open to all of us. But in many cases we can manage our end in ways that do not behave as though dying is an insult rather than the way we leave this life.

General Dismay

Can there ever have been a time in our history when so many recently retired generals, some of whom had a role in the events they now deplore, have spoken out publicly against a policy? Wesley Clarke was accused of disloyalty when he spoke out against the Iraq War in his run for president, but he had not been on active duty when the Iraq invasion began.

Is it mere stubbornness that keeps the president continuing his litany of support for Rumsfeld?

Then there is the very discomforting thought that these generals may have thought the Iraq invasion was a bad idea from the outset, but concerns for their careers and misplaced sense of loyalty kept them quiet or worse, complicit.

Is it a pipe dream to think that we can ever again be bound by the constitutional requirement that Congress declare war and vote funds before a president can commit troops? The reason given for this in recent congresional votes of such vague latitude that presidents since Korea have been able to wage war without an appropriate declaration is that events move so rapidly today that a congressional debate is too slow and cumbersome a response.

But is it?

Would President Bush have had any less success in receiving a declaration of war against Al Quaida on September 12, 2001 than Franklin Roosevelt did on December 4, 1941? Of course a terrorist group without a national identity is a lot trickier than a nation that has just attacked us.

But that may be just the point. Bush asked for an open ended declaration which he has since interpreted to mean that he can take whatever measure he sees fit against whomever he deems a threat. No president should be able to exercise such unfocused hostile fire power with the might avaliable to him. Any sensible leader would not want that sort of power without specific agreement from those elected by the people.

Would Rumsfeld's removal move us in a positive direction? Insofar as he continues to send American troops into a mayhem with no plan for either success or withdrawal, yes. But not, it seems to me, as an antidote to the exercise of raw power that has turned our nation into the scourge of the world and squandered our role as a guardian of world peace.

William Sloan Coffin

William Sloan Coffin died yesterday. He was a giant of American religion, a true prophet, of such stature that Doonesbury even satirized him. He joined hands with Martin Luther King, Jr. in marches in the scary south, he marched and preached against the Viet Nam War during his tenure as pastor of the largest protestant church, Riverside Church, in NYC.

When I was going through the dark days of my divorce, a young pastor myself in a parish that had never experienced anything like this with their spiritual leader (neither had their spiritual leader), I did a weeklong retreat at an Episcopal monastery in Cambridge, Massachusetts. While I was there I read Coffin's autobiography and discovered that he, too, had been divorced (maybe twice?) and it, too, had been among his darkest days walking through the end of what he had sworn was "until death do us part." I wrote to him my gratitude for his candor that was holding me together. He responded by return mail with a letter so kind and gracious I still mark it as one of the saving moments of my life.

What follows is a prayer Coffin (a graduate of Yale and later its chaplain) prayed when president Kennedy came to receive an honorary degree. (The occasion on which Kennedy uttered his famous, "I now have the best of two worlds, a Yale degree and a Harvard education.")

"For glimpses of beauty, for hours of truth, for tastes of justice and the feel of freedom, for music and mirth, for love and laughter, Lord, we love thy world, this nation and this place.



"Because we love the world we pray now, O Father, for grace to quarrel with it, O Thou whose lover's quarrel with the world is the history of the world. Grant us grace to quarrel with the worship of success and power, with the assumption that people are less important than the jobs they hold. Grant us grace to quarrel with a mass culture that tends not to satisfy but to exploit the wants of people, to quarrel with those who pledge allegiance to one race rather than the human race; and with those who prefer to condemn communism rather than to practice Christianity. Lord, grant us grace to quarrel with all that profanes and trivializes and separates men.



"Number us, we beseech thee, in the ranks of those who went forth from this university longing only for those things for which thou dost make us long: men for whom the complexity of issues only served to renew their zeal to deal with them; men who alleviated pain by sharing it; and men who were always willing to risk something big for something good.



"So may we leave in the world a little more truth, a little more justice, a little more beauty than would have been there had we not loved the world enough to quarrel with it for what it is not but could be. O God, take our minds and think through them; take our lips and speak through them; and take our hearts and set them on fire. Amen."

Mind Messing

I don't know about you, but even though I have followed the so-called Valerie Plame leak at least peripherally from its inception, I can't make heads nor tails out of what the president is trying to tell us about why he took part in it.

Maybe a president, since he decides what will be classified, has the authority to declassify anything anytime he wants in any way he wants, but that seems somewhat beside the point in this instance. We all heard him say he hates and disapproves of leaks, and this was a serious matter, and he was telling everyone on his staff to cooperate fully with the investigation, and if it turned out that anyone on his staff was involved - or was that convicted? - they would be fired.

So now he is asking us to believe this was a clever trick he used to get out information necessary for people to understand his policies? This is mind messing of the first order.

And it does nothing to boost one's confidence in the man's ability to manage our relations with a dangerous country like Iran.

Is it too early to call for impeachment to begin before this man takes us over the edge?

Not Again!

Seymour Hersh has consistently uncovered more startling stories about U.S, foreign policy in the past 20 years than any other reporter. Now he is reporting that Bush is actively making plans to send air strikes against Iran's nuclear capacity, and, writes Hersh in this week's New Yorker, perhaps even invade the country with the familiar aim of regime change.

Were it not for what we now know - and frankly what we either did or should have known at the time - about our war against Iraq, we might think this is either improbable or perhaps the administration floating the idea as a kind of warning to iran.

But we would be nuts not to take it seriously.

Hersh told a TV audience yesterday that he thinks Bush may have some sort of messianic sense of himself. And now that he no longer can seek reelection he feels he has been divinely appointed to do what no Republican or Democrat will be able to do after the next election.

I have a ggod friend who was an insider in the Nixon administration and he has told me there was serious consideration being given during the run up to the 1972 election to Nixon saying the nation was in too much turmoil to hold an election and declaring martial law. My friend said he had a conversation with a senior military man in the Pentagon who told him generals were holding quiet off-the-record meetings to discuss what they would do if Nixon asked the military to take over the reins of government. Or to attack another nation in a wag-the-dog effort.

My friend said they had a plan to go to congressional leaders and ask them to begin immediate impeachment proceedings that would give the military the authority to disregard or disobey orders from the president.

If George Bush ordered an air strike on Iran now - there have even been reports he might use tactical nuclear weapons - is there a way in which the military, in conjunction with leaders of congress, could refuse?

The scariest possibility is that Bush may believe God is leading him in all this. In any other setting this would be the stuff of a hackneyed novel.

Paradox

I am too old to cling to the starry-eyed idealism that once led me to believe we dreamers were going to banish war, poverty and injustice, not to mention national chauvinism, with our commitment to love as the power that overturns all other forces in human history. Perhaps it was the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. that finally made it sink in that the brave talk about offering one's body was more than talk.

And now that I am financially dependent on a pension that is invested, I am that capitalist pig I once got my jollies from vilifying.

That is prelude to what I want to say about the connection between unemployment figures, interest rates and justice.

I believe the economists when they say that the Federal Reserve governors are watching the employment (and unemployment) figures even more than energy costs or the rate of growth in the economy. The reason is that if the unemployment figures get too low, that means employers have to pay higher wages to employees. And wages are the single largest factor in driving up inflation, which means that if not enough of the work force is out of work, the Fed will raise interest rates and we investors will see our portfolios shrink.

It seems that the larger the industrial economy and the more robust the rate of growth, the stronger is the leverage of management in negotiating with labor.

So, without being a pollyana, what do you suppose it would take for us to at least begin to wonder how we might seek to balance that equation which has now been in favor of the managers for a generation? While the profits of companies have risen an average of 11% - 20% the past three years, the income of middle and poor Americans has stagnated.

We have all been conditioned to watch the Dow Jones Industrial Average as if it accurately records how we are all doing. But the reality is that it is doing way better than most of us. And until we redraw our picture of how we think things ought to go, it will continue to. Because while there is plenty of support for the economy and its chieftains, there is no one any longer trumping for those in the middle and bottom.

Would a Democrat, or perhaps an independent - it would be a sacrilege for a Republican - dare to mount a platform that says its time to let the well-being of the average American worker be considered at least as important as the numbers that measure the heft of the economy? The past 25 years have proved that a rising tide does not necessarily raise all boats. You watch this week's employment figures and think about the people they are about.