It will surely happen to each of us. One day we will leave the land of the living. Unlike Robin Williams, most of us will not choose the exact time and place. But some of us will see our departure coming like Senator John McCain and Aretha Franklin. Others, like Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, or Prince will leave suddenly and by surprise as a result of human frailty, poor choices and an inadequate support system. And some, like John Lennon, Princess Diana, and Martin Luther King, Jr. will be stolen from us by depraved human beings. Many, like Ricky Valle and Luther Vandross will be taken suddenly by dangers we haven’t yet been able to prevent. I’ve noticed that the depth and breath of my own mourning of public figures is influenced by the time and manner in which each has passed. And it is surprising to me which ones are the hardest.I would have thought that I’d mourn the hardest for the icon who has had the greatest direct impact on my life or for those to whom I related most as a human being or even the ones whose work I am most familiar with. But that hasn’t been the case.
I watch the memorial services as a way to say my own goodbyes and to participate in our national life. During the course of the public tributes and memorial services, I find myself reflecting on and celebrating the positive legacy each of these individuals leaves with us. I recall with great joy their words, artistry, service to mankind or heroism and I am grateful. In some cases, I also feel the deep regret for the loss to mankind, thinking of what could have come next and will never be. Perhaps I am too greedy.
This past week, I did more celebrating and recalling than regretting. It could be that we were prepared for the passing of Senator McCain and Aretha Franklin since we knew they were sick. But I think, more than that, their age and large body of work, spanning so many decades and touching so many lives made me realize that they were deserving of rest. They had done their part and had finished their race (although they might feel differently). So, the public memorials for my beloved Aretha Franklin did not leave me in tears nor filled with anger or regret. For me, hers was an unvarnished and fun trip down memory lane. On the other hand, John McCain’s was also a trip down memory lane that left me inspired and determined to do better. I was grateful for his service and his lingering example of what integrity looks like–something we need to see more than ever in our leaders. I kept reminding myself that this war hero and principled senator, although also the person who gave us Sarah Palin, publicly owned up to his mistakes.
When I come across the music, movies, words, or pictures of one of the icons whose lives were cut short by their own hands or the hands of others, I realize that my emotions are truly bittersweet. I can’t simply enjoy their legacy without a twinge of regret and sadness and yes, anger. My anger is not towards them, but towards our collective failings to protect them from themselves, others, and lingering dangers in our world. Together we can and should do better.
I was thankful to have Aretha’s words, music & influence in my life. I was glad to have the influence & wisdom of John McCain to balance my view of recent politics. From both I learned Respect is a verb. It was good to listen to Mr. Obama again.