The unexpected reach of Sen. Kennedy’s legacy


	Alan Bodnar, Ph.D. is the Co-Director of Psychology Training at Westborough State Hospital, Mass. and a consultant in the field of leadership development.

By Alan Bodnar, Ph.D.

"Kennedy Dead at 77."

It was not the headline I expected to see on that Wednesday in late August when I retrieved the morning paper from the driveway. Neither did I expect what happened in a group therapy session later that same morning. Perhaps the measure of our capacity to be surprised by loss is simply the intensity of the desperation with which we will do anything in our power to deny that loss is inevitable.

As group members were still trickling into the meeting room, an early arrival asked if she could speak first because she was feeling especially anxious. Given the floor a few minutes later, the woman said that the news of Sen. Kennedy's death recalled the death of a favorite aunt exactly one year ago to the day. Through her tears, she told the group that her aunt did not have to die but succumbed only because she refused a difficult but potentially life-saving treatment.

Two years ago, her grandfather passed away. He was old and frail but there was no reason to expect that what turned out to be his final hospitalization would be any different from the dozens that preceded it. There was no reason at all save the knowledge that nothing lasts and none of us goes on forever.

Other group members quickly picked up the theme, recalling losses of their own, but always with an afterthought about how they might have been prevented, "if only." If only he had followed his doctor's orders, taken his medicine, not missed his usual bus, then the outcome would have been different and he would still be with us today.

Then a voice sounded a different, more sobering, note as it asked if Ted Kennedy, with all his influence, wealth and access to the best medical care, could die, then what chance did the rest of us have? The room full of people, who are often loud, sometimes angry and always brimming with emotion, fell silent.

What chance do the rest of us have? The silence provided space and time for the question to sink in and for the answer to bubble up through each of us from the depths of our own experience, beliefs, hopes, fears and goals. We need to make peace with God, an older man said with authority and then proceeded to tell us all how exactly that was done in his own religious tradition. Someone else complained that her medication wasn't working and that her doctor wasn't available to discuss the situation and make whatever changes were needed.

She was afraid that her clinical team would discharge her before she had found a better way to cope with her distressing emotions than her usual strategy of sinking into a drug induced oblivion. The woman confessed that though she had been in the hospital for months, she had become serious about her recovery only in the last three weeks.

When time is short, we get down to business and time is short for us all. The discussion in the therapy room on the morning of Sen. Kennedy's death reminded me of something the playwright William Saroyan is said to have remarked on his deathbed. Turning to a friend, Saroyan said that he always knew that everyone has to die, but that he always thought an exception would somehow be made for him. "What now?" the dying playwright asked when he knew his time had come. Saroyan's question echoing down through the years caught up with us in the therapy room on the day the senator died. We knew Mr. Kennedy was dying, that his time was short, yet we were surprised nonetheless. Like Saroyan, did we really think an exception would be made in the case of this powerful scion of America's most visible family over the last half century? If that's what we expected, it took only four words in the morning paper to disabuse us of our irrational notion: "Kennedy Dead at 77."

Face to face with our own limited time, we could only repeat, "What now?" One group member surfaced briefly from a silent, nodding daydream to say that the hospital was a beautiful place and that he would be sorry when it closed. Another ending in the room with us since the plan was announced weeks ago was back to claim our attention. It had never really left. The daydreamer said he tries to enjoy every minute. Another group member caught in the grip of substance abuse despaired that he could ever get himself straight before he had to leave. He confessed that he was at the low point of his life and others echoed the sentiment. What good was even a limited amount of time if it wasn't enough to make up for the years that had been squandered?

The early reports of Kennedy's death were accompanied by the usual questions about his legacy. In this context, the themes of human frailty, failure and recovery emerged repeatedly and were amplified in the days and weeks that followed. We all want our lives to follow a steadily upward trajectory but reality has other ideas. Illness, loss and bad choices can send us plummeting to the bottom but, like the senator, we can work our way up by new and unimagined routes to unexpected heights. It is unlikely that Sen. Kennedy aspired to be a role model for a handful of men and women in a state hospital therapy group. Some would say that his character was not strong enough to merit the status of role model at all. But on the morning we learned the senator was dead at 77, we needed his weakness as much as his strength to remind us to make the most of what time we have left. n Alan Bodnar, Ph.D. is the Co-Director of Psychology Training at Westborough State Hospital, Mass. and a consultant in the field of leadership development.

The unexpected reach of Senator Kennedy’s legacy (October 2009 Issue)

By Alan Bodnar, Ph.D.

The unexpected reach of Senator Kennedy’s legacy
(October 2009 Issue)