Geraldine Ferraro - Warrior Princess

It remains striking to recall, (despite lacking the technological advancements that allow today's spin masters to penetrate all levels of public attention like a deadly virus through a semipermeable membrane), the agility of the monstrous political spin machine, reversing field and cutting back to focus its death rays on the first female interloper in the exclusively male preserve of presidential politics. It's clear that Geraldine Ferraro anticipated major opposition to her historic nomination as the first woman vice presidential candidate and running mate of Walter Mondale in 1984. What she got was a massive retaliatory strike by the opposition and the flaccid support of the Democratic Party, weak kneed at the prospect of fundamental change.

Ms. Ferraro faced challenges from the start, being raised by a single mom after her father's death, but attained the highest levels of success by virtue of her intelligence, perseverance, generosity and optimism. When multiple myeloma crashed into her world in 1998, that too she wrestled to the ground and on a daily basis fought it to a draw, absorbing the physical pain, the fearful psychological trauma, refusing to allow the deadly disease to alter the purpose of her life.

I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma in 2002 and I owe my extra years of continued good health to the Doctors and Nurses and Researchers of the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston. But the spirit to stand tall and ferociously fight through, over, and around the black beast of cancer, to focus on the bright colors, the overwhelming beauty and joy of life was a gift from Geraldine Ferraro.

I am stunned at the loss of this bright light. Geraldine Ferraro rode stoically at the front blazing a path that many of us followed and as I continue across the treacherous fields, slowing to honor her still form, wanting to stop, to stay and draw strength from her resting soul, I stumble in sadness at the loss of this grand woman.

Story Two: "A Day....."    (For my Ali)

He leaned back against the car and savored a moment of peace as the dawn light burned through the mist revealing a clear, blue, summer sky. Sun splashed across the yard and the dew settled like a blanket of tiny diamonds over the striving grass.

How could it be?

The little family had been up for some time, bathed, dressed and ready for the two hour drive into Boston’s Dana Farber Cancer Institute. Seven year old Eleanor wrapped in her toastiest blanket, sat on the big leather reading chair in the den and looked up from her book as her Dad stepped through the door from the driveway.

A shiver coursed through his body, anticipating the day ahead.

“Is it cold out Dad”?

“A little cool for August, Eleanor…. but I’m warming the car”.

He knelt before his little girl and tucked the blanket close around her thinning frame, leaning in to kiss the translucent skin on the top of her head.

“Eleanor”.

Her Mom smiling hard quick stepped from the kitchen, a glass of orange juice in one hand and a blue beret in the other.

“I brushed off your hat in case you want to wear it into Boston this morning."

“Dad, will you hold my book?”

Eleanor handed him a paperback with a dog on the cover, and reached for the hat in her Mom’s outstretched hand.

Mom always asked, but Eleanor wore the little blue hat all the time now, indoors and out. This time she was more aware of the staring faces.

She was four when she first endured the effects of chemotherapy. Then, as her long, dark curls fell away she was more curious than concerned, believing, as Mom explained, - the medicine made her hair fall out but it would grow back just as full and long when she was better.. - Until it grew back she was so busy with friends, and grandparents and cousins visiting that she didn’t think much about it.

This time, almost four years later, she went back to school suddenly bald and the way the kids stared made her feel lonely. In the mirror that night she studied the fine, blue veins marking the top of her head like the lines on the classroom wall map and decided right there she would never again leave home without her hat..

Eleanor woke easily to her Mom’s voice whispering, “We’re here Sweetie. Dad’s going to help us from the car.”

She was warm, she realized, except for her hands, which never felt warm anymore. Her eyes came into focus as she became aware that she had been wrapped like a cocoon in her favorite quilt. She had barely moved from the time they pulled out of the driveway at home.

Dad leaned into the rear passenger door, smiling at her attempt to look wide awake. He lifted her easily from her Mom’s lap and held her while Mom wearily exited the back seat and gathered a bag of games, books, her pink I Pod, and a small overnight satchel just in case.

At the entrance they paused before the tall windows, Eleanor still in her Dad’s arms her Mom laden with bags, spectators themselves for a moment. They watched as Nurses and Doctors moved deliberately, crisscrossing the lobby, in and around the kids being wheeled or carried by anxiously determined Moms and Dads. Nobody stared, nor did they avoid eye contact. A touch of a smile or a slight nod, the only signs of the unspoken sharing that occurred in this place.

Finally,with a collective breath and looking straight ahead, they went through the big doors to join the marathon within. Here, at least, there was hope.