I have been thus far reluctant to discuss it with anyone, especially my husband. (I will call him The Professor.) It's not because The Professor is a die-hard Libertarian, and so not a fan of the Big Government Kennedy clan, but because of Senator Kennedy's Achilles heel: Chappaquiddick.
I don't need to remind all of you of the events of July, 1969, when a young woman sadly lost her life while in the company of - and as a result of - Edward Kennedy. I know many of you were and continue to be outraged that Senator Kennedy suffered little to no consequences as a result of his actions. The Professor is. (Though, to be fair, he doesn't believe in the US prison system.)
I am not outraged. Had I been alive in 1969, I would have been, though as a sensible person I would have also felt some sympathy toward Ted as well as his victim. I do not wish to make excuses for his appalling behavior, but I will say that alcoholism is not a happy person's disease. So for those of you who might think that dark bridge was just a tiny bump in an otherwise smooth sail, I would ask you to reconsider.
When John Kennedy Jr. died in 1999, a lot of resources were deployed in the search for his small plane. When The Professor and others started to fuss about the high cost, that this man shouldn't receive special treatment because of his celebrity, I quietly reminded them that his father gave his life in service to this country, and that that should still count for something. Not only his father but his uncle, who died while aspiring to be useful during tumultuous times. (Is there any other kind?) And now the nephew was gone, too, and Ted left to be the "he'll do instead, I guess" Kennedy. Neither as handsome nor as iconic as his two more famous brothers, Teddy suffered the survivor's curse, the one who ages and fucks up while the others, like Dorian Gray, remain baby faced and full of promise.
I would have hated to have been Teddy Kennedy.
But, like The Professor, he had three kids, as well as two step-children, all of whom are missing their father today. He served over 45 years in the Senate, which the Professor would tell you makes him a leech and a thief. I like to argue intentions with my husband, though, and I suspect Teddy's were redemptive. We don't have to agree with his goals for the US to agree that he meant to serve in good faith. In a society such as ours, we will likely never agree on the goals, but we can still honor those who try.
Again, his life never struck me as much of a party - one of his children lost a leg to cancer, he nearly died in a plane crash - so I know he wasn't doing it for all the perks that come with a life in public office. Trust me. I've eaten in the Senate cafeteria.
Lest I come off as too compassionate, I have to confess a vested interest in my argument. The fact is, without haven taken any lives, I have wrecked a few in my time. I willfully and thoroughly destroyed my first marriage. I nearly destroyed my second. I sent a dozen good, kind men and women packing from my side because they were good and kind, and I was having none of that.
If, as some will say today when euligizing the Senator from Massachusettes, we are only as good as our worst moments, then my life is a lost cause. Twelve years of marriage to The Professor, our happy kids, the life and relationships I've built from scratch with nothing more than the will to do a little better every day.
And what about you? You know what you did. How do you sleep at night/face yourself in the mirror/kiss your mother with that mouth? Is your life, too, the baby in the bathwater hoping not to get the old alley-oop? We let ourselves go forward with the hope of redemption, that we can one day forgive ourselves and be forgiven, too. Is it too much to ask that we extend the same grace to others, that they, too, may find, at last, some peace?
Because while I might regret the hurt I've caused, I can't regret that it lead me here, where at least I have the chance to make it up to you. So rest in peace, Senator Kennedy. Apology accepted.
