Ellie Slott Fisher

The news of Elizabeth Edwards’ passing is profoundly sad. When most of us were first introduced to her a decade ago, her lifestyle invoked envy; a successful lawyer, a loving mother, the wife of a perpetually-youthful looking and seemingly devoted husband. And as we’ve long ago discovered about First Ladies and potential First Ladies, she was the brilliance behind her man.

We tried to rectify that she had already endured a tragedy – the unspeakable, unthinkable nightmare of every parent – the death of her son. He was only 16. A star. And he died suddenly in a car crash.

We admired her for overcoming the loss, and envied her for her entry onto the political stage. And then her next tragedy arrived with the nuance of a summer thunderstorm, leaving destruction in its wake. It was a diagnosis of breast cancer. And then, as the world knows too well, came the one tragedy that could have been averted. It was her husband’s lying, scandalous behavior – when she was SICK – and it resulted in a child out of wedlock.

Still every time Elizabeth Edwards graced the media, it was with stoic poise and aplomb.

Personally, as a writer, I have always been impressed with the articulateness with which she spoke. I have read excerpts from her book, and have been captivated by the richness of her prose. Most political memoirs, if not ghostwritten, are heavily edited. I believe neither is the case in Edwards’ book. Her impromptu speech had always been so aesthetically laced; I doubt she needed anyone to help her think.

I am always reluctant to give voice to the notion that people are never given more than they can bear. Even though she had endured too much, she never seemed to lose sight of her priorities, which without question, were her children.

We can remember Elizabeth Edwards one of two ways; the woman filled with so much sorrow that appeared weaker and weaker in the waning weeks of her life, or the vibrant, smiling woman we watched hold her husband’s hand on the stage at the Democratic National Convention. For most of us, that was the first time we met her. And for me at least, that’s the way I intend to remember her.