Passages

Several decades ago, Gail Sheehy's book Passages came out. It was an interesting although light read. But, much of what she said stuck with me. She came up with some catchy phrases to identify stages that we pass through on our adult journeys--the trying 20s, the Catch 30s, the Forlorn 40s, the Refreshed 50s. I don't think she went into the Sizzling 60s (my term. at least I think it is).

Watching the coverage of the Ted Kennedy funeral this week, I thought--my life passages have been marked, to a limited extent, by Kennedy deaths.

It was a Friday. I was a sophomore in college, and a member of the debate team. We were getting ready to head off campus for an inter-collegiate debate. I think we were going to Fordham University in New York City. Suddenly, the news came through that President John F. Kennedy had been shot, while on a trip to Dallas, Texas.

A year before, my classmates and I, completely fresh freshmen, had listened anxiously through several days as the United States and the Soviet Union inched toward a seemingly inevitable nuclear confrontation. Under President Kennedy's hand, such a showdown was averted.

I was not initially a Kennedy supporter. I grew up in a solidly Republican environment. I vividly remember walking to a neighbor's house to watch the Kennedy-Nixon debates. I was living with my mother's sister, my aunt, for a year after my parents had returned to their mission work in Africa. Television was a rarity then, and my aunt and her family did not have one. But this neighbor did. So, in this solidly Republican area of Pennsylvania, we watched and cheered on Richard Nixon, convinced that he was the heir apparent to President Eisenhower's peaceful time as President. Of course, we all know Kennedy won the election. I was stunned--how could it be that a godless Democrat--and a Catholic at that--had won the presidency.

Now, three years later, we were grief stricken at the news of his having been shot. And then the news was compounded and deepened--President Kennedy had died. I suppose if I had to pick a single moment that marked my transition from childhood to adulthood, it would be that death.

Fast forward five years. I had finished my undergraduate years, and a year at graduate school. A newly minted master's student, I had returned to my alma mater to teach. I had just finished the school year. It was one of my first days home, and I was sleeping in. When I got up, I turned on the television, curious to know what if any news there was.

The calm of that early summer morning was destroyed by the unbelievable news--Robert Kennedy had been shot and killed. By now, my husband--of all of 6 months--and I were moving away from being Republicans. Bobby Kennedy had caught our imaginations. He was so fresh, so wonderful a change from Lyndon Johnson who was care-worn and seemingly incapable of ending the horrific war in Vietnam. Bobby Kennedy offered hope that we could recapture some of the idealistic enthusiasm that had made the 1960s such heady years. And now he was dead.

His death, so close on the heels of Martin Luther King's assassination, seemed to rob us of all hope that right could prevail.

Of course, there have been many milestones in my life in the years between Bobby's death and Teddy's death. 1968 to 2009. Much happens in 41 years. My husband and I, so disillusioned by Nixon's betrayal of the country in Watergate, switched to the Democratic party. Our children were born, and grew, and went to college and graduate school, graduating successfully. They have found their own life partners.

Several years ago, I retired (sort of) and have turned my attention to gratifying endeavors, such as teaching at my community college. There are many good things in life yet to come--including our daughter's wedding, and some day--we pray--grandchildren.

And now, the last of the Kennedy brothers has died. Teddy's death doesn't really mark a specific moment in my life. But there is a sunset aspect to many things these days. Next year, I will be qualified for Medicare--so I am in the senior status here. Perhaps that sunset glow has colored my view.

There is a bitter sweetness to contemplating Teddy Kennedy's life. As some commentators noted, he was granted the gift of time that his brothers were denied. As a result, he saw his children grown, and married. He saw his grandchildren born and growing. He found work that he relished, that enriched him as he enriched the world. He was able to grow beyond the painful mistakes of his youth and make a genuine contribution to improve the world.

It is a measure of a life that we all can envy.