I wonder if reaction to this book might have something to do with the reader's age and life experience. I thought it was a remarkable book because of its honesty and the willingness of Elizabeth Edwards to share, without self pity, heartbreak that would have destroyed many, if not most, of us. The death of a child would be enough by itself to destroy a person. A cancer diagnosis alone would be enough. The confession of a beloved husband/ best friend/rock that he he'd had a one-night-stand and the public humiliation it brought with it. would be enough. Cancer treatments would be enough. A new diagnosis of cancer's return and spreading and the death sentence it meant, would be enough. Knowing you would not see your two young children grow up, would be enough. Seeing your own mother's descent into mental vacuity, would be enough. Ongoing new cancer treatments even knowing there is little if any hope that they'll work, would be enough. And then, when you know you are facing your last battle, when you have little time left and little left to fight with, you are hit with the knowledge that the "one night stand" was more than that, that it was an affair, that there was a child born to the other woman, followed by the public humiliation and sniggering, ultimate sense of betrayal... it is time to say, "Enough. No more."
I never got a sense of bitterness, except near the end, directed toward the woman who deliberately intruded into their life and, when John's complete betrayal was revealed, toward this man who had betrayed her and then lied about it. If every any woman was entitled to anger and bitterness it was Elizabeth Edwards. Yet she somehow seemed to keep herself from descending into hatred.I'm not sure I could have done that.
Elizabeth Edwards took the nettles of her life in her hands and tried not to flinch. She did not always succeed. She never pretends to sainthood. She admits often, in these pages, to being flawed, to being less than people thought. Throughout, she displays nothing but quiet courage and suffering, and bewilderment that her life should have turned out so different than it was expected to, bewilderment that God seemed to let things happen to someone who played by the rules, who lived the best life she could. She simply grasped the nettles harder and pressed on to her sad, heartbreaking end.
If any novelist wrote her life as a plot, not one would publish it because it would be just too unbelievable, too soap-opera-ish. But it was true. Elizabeth Edwards lived it. And died it.
I thought the poetry and song excerpts she quoted were perfect for the context, for the situation, for her state of mind. I think it's amazing that she could think clearly enough to write it, suffering as she was through the cancer treatments and the devastation of her heart. She wasn't putting in poetry to appeal to a faceless reader. She put in the words, lines, verses, that had meaning for her, and that she drew strength from. God knows how and where she found strength at all. I would not have.
I have not lost a child. But at 72 I have lost most of my family and several friends. I am well acquainted with grief. In 1964, within two weeks, I lost my mother to cancer and an older sister who was like an auxiliary mother. My sister was killed in a head-on car crash on a day like the one on which Wade Edwards was killed, in an accident much like his. Though I could not feel completely her grief at Wade's death, I could feel much of it. I know how it changes your life and forces you into a new reality. I, too, found comfort and still do all these years later, in homely poetry and songs and my remaining family. And, yes, it is a new reality and every new loss forces your to create yet another new reality.
It's not an easy book to read. I cried most of the way through it. I felt I knew her.
I wish I had.