Now, we start anew. There is no more Ted Kennedy.

Like many Americans, I spent the weekend with the Kennedy family — taking in all the stories, listening to a variety of news commentators, and reading assorted obituaries. On Saturday morning, from the comfort of my couch, I watched the Kennedy funeral service. I felt as if I was right there, front row and center at Our Lady of Perpetual Help.

In an odd way, I, also, felt like I belonged. The Kennedy’s have been part of the wide-screen version of my life since my grade school days in Dallas, Texas. And I am not alone; so many of us remember this family’s history because we all lived through it together. The loss of both Jack and Bobby Kennedy struck a national nerve. Our collective consciousness was re-arranged.

Those early days of shock and grief forged a bond between us, the American public, and the entire Kennedy clan. They became extended family, and, as such, we have felt invested in their lives.

And so it was this weekend as I watched the send-off for Ted Kennedy, I cried, I laughed, and I swapped stories — albeit news stories—with family and friends. We were all in this together.

What struck me about the wake and the funeral of Senator Kennedy was that it was so very revealing and personal. Ted Kennedy was no cardboard cut-out of a political figure or Big-Daddy-style iron-fisted patriarch; he was a three-dimensional human being complete with public failures as well as successes, a man who knew both up and down.

The more I learned about Ted Kennedy, the more I liked him. Most certainly, I appreciated his “Lion of the Senate” abilities as he championed the causes of the underdog and the disenfranchised. Senator Kennedy believed in all aspects of human rights, education, peace, and health care. He battled constantly for the regular person to get their due. He was, in the words of St. Paul, tenaciously “fighting the good fight.”

I knew Ted Kennedy as a man of enormous joie de vivre, political passions, and a strong sense of family; what I didn’t know was that he was unusually thoughtful and kind. He was extraordinary in reaching out and making connections during scary and vulnerable times, such as a terrible car accident, surgery, or a death anniversary. He remembered birthdays; he cared about the individual in a personal-touch way.

And what made me stand up and say “bravo” was his constant faithfulness to those knee-deep in grief, sorrow, and tragedy. Kennedy understood, all too well, what is was like to lose a loved one to illness, violence, and tragedy. He was well versed in the ways of grief, and he shared this understanding with others.

Kennedy fit the archetype of the wounded healer; he helped, because he knew the pain firsthand. He personally called his Massachusetts constituents who lost loved ones defending our country or were victims of 9/11. And often those calls were not a one-time event; he understood the importance of reminding people that they needed to keep living; it was the only solution to such loss.

Thank you, Ted Kennedy, for being such a power of example. You were a master of endurance and resiliency. You made big, messy, all-the-world-knows-about-it kinds of mistakes; and, silver-spoon-birthright notwithstanding, you picked up your red-faced self, course corrected, and carried forward. Lesser mortals might have taken to their beds or their bottles in perpetuity. You did not. You chose to pursue your dreams and created a life of service.

Thank you, Ted Kennedy, for your lessons of kindness, courage, and resiliency. You have inspired me to be more mindful of others and, no matter how busy I think I am, to take the time and make the moment to reach out to another.

I wonder where you found the hours in the day or had the energy to accomplish all that you did. Undoubtedly, your heart was enormously wide and all-encompassing, and those open-hearted energies kept you galloping along at furious pace.

And I agree with your younger grandkids: you were, indeed, the “grand fromage (the big cheese).”

Thank you, Mr. Kennedy, for taking excellent care of so many us. I am sure the angels are delighted with your exuberant, song-singing presence in the celestial realms.

Rest in peace; you have done such good work, and may your soul always encounter smooth sailing.



Adele Ryan McDowell, Ph.D., is a psychologist, teacher, and channel who likes looking at life with the big viewfinder. Her website is www.channeledgrace.com, and her email address is channeledgrace@aol.com. © Copyright 2009 by Adele Ryan McDowell.