It's a rare occurrence that I write about my family in a public setting. Tonight, I feel compelled to write about my father as I watch coverage surrounding Tim Russert's unexpected passing earlier today.
I'll get to dad in a moment.
Tim Russert was a great journalist. Political, broadcast or otherwise, he was a class act in what has become a sea of sensationalism and sleaze in broadcast media. Watch any network news channel and you'll be bombarded with pundits posing as journalists who will say anything to get viewers riled up. Why? To increase numbers, amass a fan base, get a book deal, make lots of money... check those ethics at the door. Tim Russert brought a sense of legitimacy and dignity to an otherwise shallow news media; a gentleman in the Don-Henley-Dirty-Laundry industry.
Meet the Press is a program that I have very much enjoyed for some time now. I'm not a religious person, but I do have a little Sunday morning "church service" I draw a lot of peace and inspiration from, and that is watching CBS News Sunday Morning. And, every time Sunday Morning would end, I would flip over to Meet the Press. This Sunday morning ritual has been a part of me for some time. It was a wonderful way to start my own special Sabbath, several hours of televised arts and culture followed by political discussion, all delivered by pleasant personalities. By mid-day, I'd feel that my creative, spiritual and intellectual selves had been re-charged. Sunday morning is going to feel strange this week.
Watching his colleagues speak of him is very touching. It takes me back to the days following the death of my father, reminded of the wonderful things that people would say to us about him. The theme was solid: My dad was remembered as a good man, an honest man, a man dedicated to his faith, his family and his country. A man who, as a high school art teacher, touched lives. At dad's funeral, students from many years back came out to pay their respects. He was only one year away from retiring from the profession he loved and was so skilled at.
Those memories, despite the pain surrounding the event, are heart-warming. Other memories that stem from this coverage are more difficult to re-visit.
Tim Russert passed away the same way my dad did, suddenly... unexpectedly. My dad was 56. It was four days after the 9/11 attacks. Dad kept himself in good health. He was not a drinker, not a smoker, kept himself in check. While watching commentary this evening, it was reported that Tim Russert had a stress test in late April and passed with flying colors. I felt a pang in my own heart as I remembered that being the exact same scenario with my dad. He, too, had a clean bill of health at the last checkup he had... about a month before he died.
Collapsed and died. I've heard that before.
But there's one phrase that I keep hearing that hits me the hardest, and I really need to change the channel to VH-1 or something lame and non-challenging. That phrase is: He could not be revived.
He could not be revived.
I've heard those words. I heard them in a hospital emergency room on a sunny Saturday morning in September, a day that we as a family were planning to spend together helping one of my brothers move.
That is one of the single worst statements a person can hear, I can assure you. And it's something you never forget. Technical, matter-of-fact, yet so loaded with emotion.
I know the pain Tim Russert's family is feeling, as well as anyone who has lost someone they've loved deeply. Whether the inevitable loss lingered or was sudden, the rug is yanked out from under you and all you can do is love them, honor their memory and carry on.
This time of year is always very difficult for me due to all the father's day advertising and so forth. But while the difficulty of the loss varies in intensity depending on the time of year, not a day goes by when I don't think of him and hope that I am making him proud.
If you're still reading this, I want to say one last thing. Love your parents. Love your children. Love your siblings, your grandparents, your significant others, your friends, your pets... be kind to the people you interact with be they stranger or friend. This life is a frenzied one and its easy to lose track of people we care about. But this life is also short, and can end at any moment.
And that's all I have to say about all of this. Thank you for reading.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Thoughts on Tim Russert's Passing
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6 comments:
Such a sweet post. You're one of two good friends who have lost their sweet daddy unexpectedly. And hearing this news was hard for many reasons, including my high opinion of him as an individual. But the hardest part to swallow was that he was someone's father and husband.
Thanks for always reminding us to hug the ones we love and truly love them. I know your daddy is most certainly proud of you and the wonderful person you are.
Beautifully put.
And for me, as someone who knows you a little, and gleans what can be gleaned from your blog, not to mention someone who knew your dad when HE was growing up, and saw the kind of man he became -- a dedicated family man, a strong believer in (not to mention doer of) some of life's more important things -- I'd be very surprised if he were anything but damn proud of you, Colette.
Me? I'm just a distant uncle, but even *I'm* proud that you're my niece. Imagine how proud your dad must be that you're his daughter.
And yes -- be good to your dogs, people. They bring out the best in us if we let them...
LCK
Thank you for your sweet words, Ms. E. In regard to my dad, I wish you could have met him. He would have found you to be sweet and adorable and you two could have talked photography until the cows came home. But, you know me, and I am most definitely my father's daughter. Just as you are yours. xoxo.
Lee, your words brought tears to my eyes in such a good way. Thank you so much for taking the time to comment such heartfelt thoughts.
You may have been across the country when I was growing up, as I am with my niece and nephew, but I do have many memories of you. You're not as distant as you believe.
I remember when I was eight years old and had that botched tonsillectomy that resulted in a blood transfusion and several hospital stays. I was so sick. You were DJing at... KCPX, I think it was. You gave me a little radio that was inside a stuffed dog. The dials were on the dog's "belly" and you had marked the spot where KCPX was on the dial with nail polish. I thought that was so cool. I remember mom sitting on the edge of my bed, and the two of us calling into the station to request a song from you. I don't remember exactly what you said or what song was played, but I remember the shout-out I got from my cool uncle on the radio and how special that made me feel.
That's just one of several memories I have of you. Just so's you know, I'm pretty dadgum proud to have an uncle who has dedicated his life to changing the world... one dog at a time. :)
Huh. I DO remember how sick you were and how glad I was to talk to you over the radio and how I hoped that doing that might make you feel a little better. I was very worried about you, as we all were. But putting nail polish on the radio dial so you'd know where to find KCPX? Would nail polish have been my natural choice?
I hope this doesn't burst your bubble too much, but to me it just shows how much your mother loves you.
LCK
Well, shucks, I don't know why you would have been in possession of nail polish now that I think about it. A girlfriend, maybe? Or maybe you needed it for one of your screen roles. :)
But, you're right... mom probably did do that. Radio dials always eluded me, but sometimes I miss them. One doesn't get the weird squealing noises between frequencies with the digital scanners any more. It's about as nostalgic a sound as a needle on vinyl, or a dial-up modem.
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