My mother and I arrived at an uneasy compromise that allows her to spend some time at her own home, without any home aides. Home health aides come and go and could bring the infection into her house. My parents bought their apartment in 1995 after my father lost his reelection. Now the apartment is basically a shrine to my father. My mother didn’t change anything after his death. His desk, papers, books, are just the way he left them. His closet is still full. His razor is still on the sink. His office in the apartment is untouched, and it’s almost eerie. The only thing that’s missing is him. It’s almost a perfect painting of “what was” but for my father’s absence. If he reappeared in the painting, it would be exactly as he left it. I tried a couple of times to tell my mom to rearrange the space. I thought it might be better for her to move on. But I’m not sure that she wants to. My father is still very much present for her.
Their relationship was what I call a “real love” affair. It was not glamorized or idealized. It was hard and imperfect. They were very different in basic ways, and they both gave up much for each other and their children. I’m sure they both had their moments in which they questioned their decisions. I am sure they went through the what-if scenarios. What if they had made different decisions in life? What if they had chosen other options? “What could have been” is a question that we all confront. But they lived their lives where they were, and they lived them to the fullest with no regrets. They were fundamentally happy.
My mother had something that she wanted to share. She had watched all the briefings and been speaking with many people. All her friends through the years had called her. The people who worked with my father called and wrote to her. She had many thoughts and feelings that she had stored up for weeks until the time was right when we could have a real conversation. She had many specific points and questions that she wanted to talk through. My mother has been through a lot and learned much, and she wanted to share her opinions and thoughts. She had kept notes over the months, and she had pages of points that she wanted to make. But she had one main point that she wanted to convey. She wanted me to know how proud “we” were of what I had done. The “we” was she and my dad. My mother will still say “we” are happy or “we” want to give you this. She wanted me to know that they were both proud. Your father is proud, “so proud,” she said repeatedly.
I do not have the right to speak for my father the way my mother does. After nearly sixty years of marriage she has that absolute right. That is what a lifetime of “real love” gives you. A lifetime of sharing everything. It is an intimacy from sharing life’s indignities. A trust based on years of trials and tribulations. A loyalty earned by sharing losses. “Real love” gives you that right.
For all the complexity in life there are still essential elements that are so simple. Children want to make their parents proud. And parents need the vindication. It is the greatest gift a child can give a parent. I am glad that I gave her that gift. The fact that my children watched the entire situation unfold and were able to experience it with me was an unexpected treasure. There is a lifetime of wisdom in the past months. I’m sure they don’t appreciate it all today, but I’m also sure that they will look back on these moments for the rest of their lives and learn from the mistakes but also cherish the good. When they think of the relationship between my mother and me, I hope they will smile. I truly hope they will. They should. It is a beautiful thing.
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LET ME END where I began. The COVID virus is not the extent of our problem. COVID merely exposed underlying weaknesses. America’s vulnerability has been growing for years. Our national division and government incompetence allowed the COVID virus to ravage our country. The only way to stop the virus was for people to unify and work together. Our political, geographic, religious, racial, and economic schisms make unification challenging. The term for viral transmission is “community spread,” and it is deeply ironic that the only way to stop “community spread” is by forging community.
For too many years government service has been a dying art. I primarily point to the federal government, but it is also true for some state and local governments. Government no longer performs. It doesn’t build, solve, or improve. Our government has become an extension of our political campaigns. Rhetoric, platitudes, and positioning have become paramount. Our electoral process is for the most part no longer capable of selecting competent and qualified officials. We do not distinguish between those who merely advocate and those who actually accomplish.
COVID required government performance. Yet the shortcomings were obvious. Testing, tracing, and health-care capacity needed to be mobilized and operationalized quickly. And too many governments simply failed.
The two weaknesses exposed by COVID are not separate but rather symbiotic. National division and government incompetence feed and breed on each other. The less competent the government, the less progress is made, the more frustrated the public becomes and the more divided the nation. A divided nation leads to government paralysis, and the cycle continues.
In theory the formula is simple: quality leadership, government competence, and national unity. New York conquered the first wave, but
