My mother died of a glioma four years ago on Thanksgiving weekend. That's the same kind of brain tumor Ted Kennedy has. My mother was the head of a social services agency in the Ohio county where she lived, and she devoted her life to the cause of abused and neglected children. On the day she was to retire, she collapsed in the bathroom as she was doing her hair for her retirement party. A year later she was dead after an incredibly dignified struggle. When I saw Ted Kennedy bravely go to the podium at the Democratic Convention, I wept because I knew exactly what he was going through and what strength it took for him to stand there.
I can't think of a more devastating illness than a glioblastoma, which slowly spreads through the brain, robbing the victim of both physical and mental capacities including the ability to process language, to walk, and to see. When a person is diagnosed with a glioma, she knows the terrible fate that she is facing. And yet as I saw with my mother, there can be tremendous bravery even in the face of the worst that life could possibly offer. My mother, as if to spite her illness, walked everyday, no matter how slowly, until she could no longer walk. She loved to have us read the literally hundreds of get well cards sent to her by all the people she had affected with her work, until she could no longer hear. She loved watching her new grandchild until she could no longer see.
Amusingly, my mother was invited to the White House for a cocktail party because she had met George Bush when he was campaigning on his jobs program. My mother sat on the dais at the community college with Bush, and gave a poised and impressive talk on making sure that jobs were available to all. Although my mother was not a particular fan of the Republicans--and in fact had a gay son and a lesbian daughter whom she loved beyond measure--she went off to the White House to sit with Laura Bush's mother and George Bush's high school friend at this cocktail party. At this point, it took all of her strength to even walk, and yet she looks elegant standing next to Laura Bush in the photograph of the event that she brought home. Most of her children--myself included--refrained from criticizing the Bush administration at this moment, despite our anger at Ohio's new same-sex marriage ban, and my Dad said, "I always knew your mother would make it to the White House."
Although I am somewhat glad that my mother did not live to see that her photograph had been taken with the worst president in U. S. history, I wish she could have seen the dignity and bravery and sheer moxy of Ted Kennedy as he returns to his office, still ready to give service to his country. I wish she could have seen his cheerfulness and his refusal to let this terrible illness get the better of him, for as long as he can hold out. She would have loved that. That is why I cry when I see Ted Kennedy. He is a profile in courage.