The day her family buried Elizabeth Edwards, I was standing in my kitchen preparing to make cookies for two Girl Scout parties while my children helped their grandmother decorate our Christmas tree.
Save for my messy house and the din of kids, cats, and radio music, it nearly resembled a modern-day Norman Rockwell picture.
The moment reminded me again how blessed I am.
Like many Americans, I've been touched by the story of Mrs. Edwards. I've railed against her philandering husband and pondered the tragic aspects of dying while one's children are still so young.
Her story touches a lot of raw nerves. People struggling with longstanding illness, wives betrayed by husbands, children left motherless, a mother forced to soldier on in the face of the unknown -- all of these, and others, somehow relate to this woman who lived some very private moments in a very public way.
No comments:
Post a Comment