Last week six days of news coverage were dominated with the death and funeral of Ted Kennedy.  Three of the four living Presidents attended the funeral.  Obama did the eulogy.  But it was not just the politically well-connected who were affected–so many of us seemed to be.  Why would this be so?  I began to wonder.

Of course, liberals were greatful for the lengthy and effective leadership that Kennedy gave to progressive issues during his tenure as a Senator. But there are more subtle, elusive reasons, I think, that so many people–and not just die-hard liberals–were so deeply affected by Kennedy’s death.

We never die alone, we always die in a context.  If this is true of the least of us, how much more this fact resonates with Ted Kennedy.  His death marked the end of an era.  We were reminded of the sacrifices of his amazing family–the oldest brother Joe, Jr., dying in the war, and the martyred brothers, John and Robert.  When an era passes in a kind of sad completeness, as it has just done, we are all reminded of the inevitable passing of time, of the sense that all good things must one day come to an end.

And then the swiftness and sureness of Ted Kennedy’s death after his diagnosis seemed striking.  One looks at those of privilege and begins to believe that everything is possible with them–surely they are not subject to the same natural forces that we commoners must fear, no, they can call in the best doctors, get treatment at the best medical facilities.  And then we are reminded of the brothers lying dead, each falling to an assassin’s bullet.  And Ted, helpless in the face of the recurrence of his brain tumor.  We know once again that they, too, are mortal, that nothing could have saved them, and certainly nothing can save us. 

Third, and perhaps most significant, Ted Kennedy was a man seriously flawed, but a man who redeemed himself in the end.  We read endlessly about his drinking problem, his weight problem, his womanizing problem–and we read always, always about Chappaquiddick.  He knew his imperfections better than anyone, and owned them.  He described the death he caused at Chappaquiddick as “unforgivable.”  And yet he turned his life around.  With the help of his wife Vicki, he stabilized his home ground, and he focused his attention on the problems of the poor and the disenfrancished of this country, working tirelessly to improve their lives.  He was known throughout political circles as the best informed Senator–he wasn’t given to empty polemic, but rather knew the facts surrounding any given issue, was informed about the specifics of the legislation. 

So the youngest son of this formidable family, overweight and rather passive as a child, who his parents thought would never amount to much, outlived them all, and made of his life, one step at a time, a gift to the nation, a voice for those who so often suffer in silence, and a lasting record of accomplishment.

Ted Kennedy’s life and death says, then, to all of us–yes, we are mortal, we will die.  And yes, we are flawed, every one of us.  We hope not to be remembered for the worst thing we ever did.  We can get up and try again.  Redemption is possible.  It was for Ted Kennedy.  And it is for us.