What Ted Kennedy Meant

Over the past several days, I have watched every minute of the televised events surrounding the death of Senator Edward M. Kennedy. I was electronically "there" for all of the memorial service held at the John F. Kennedy library, the entire Mass held at the Mission Church in Roxbury, Massachusetts, and the afternoon and evening that witnessed the transportation of his casket from Boston to Washington, DC, and his subsequent burial ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia.

I listened carefully to every word that was spoken about Teddy in the many speeches that were given over the course of the past 3 days. I ruminated, cried, and laughed. I cried because death makes us sad and grief hurts. I laughed because there were many stories told by his colleagues and friends that were truly funny. But mostly I cried and felt a sense of despair, personal and global.

It's not just about Teddy Kennedy's death, the unbelievable tragedies he and his family have had to endure, the political and personal "mistakes" he has made, how he was not a perfect person with a flawless record, or the grief and pain his offspring are obviously suffering. As the emotions of each day ebbed into the background, I began to discover what the tears were really about: I cry because we have lost a liberal champion, a progressive thinker and do-er, and a real force in politics who already accomplished more than we could have hoped for. I cry because that loud voice (who didn't always get his way) is gone forever. When we felt the bitter disappointments handed to us by gutless other politicians for whom we had voted in good faith, I knew we had Ted Kennedy. His passing leaves a void that is hugely gaping and abysmal.

I cry too because I am touched by his own redemption. I am stirred in my soul with the knowing, finally, that imperfection doesn't mean defeat. Imperfection doesn't mean the baby has to be thrown asunder with the bath water. Imperfection doesn't condemn a whole life to invalidity or nothingness.

Imperfect people can redeem themselves and do good and excellent things while remaining imperfect. Not everything has to rise to the level of perfection to be considered valuable.

All of my life, I've leaned toward idealism---the way things "ought" to be---and when they weren't, that it what I mourned. Hearing, seeing, tasting, reading, or experiencing anything that implied or demonstrated perfection to me always brought (and brings) me to tears.

I will always be moved and stirred in my soul by perfection and idealism, but now, after Teddy Kennedy's death, I finally and concretely realize that there is a road to betterment that is not constructed with sinlessness. There is a path called "striving for excellence" that is not paved with pure gold, and it doesn't have to be. The path less traveled, the one full of brush and thorny overgrowth, sharp curves, side roads, weeds, rocks, logs, mud, the occasional flower, and dried, discarded leaves is a legitimate path that can be taken. In fact, such a path may be more intrinsically interesting, accessible, challenging, entertaining, productive, and inspiring than the smooth road that charts a straight line to that improbable destination called perfection.

Teddy Kennedy's life and death make me feel better about my own life. It seems like a selfish thing to say, but any good life lesson can come with the most unusual of events, emotions, or thoughts. For all the good he did for us in this country, and the world, I thank him. For the good he did for me in re-evaluating my own life of imperfection, I really thank him. May he rest in peace. And may the rest of his political colleagues take up the banner of his perseverance and do the right (even if not the perfect) thing.