Dear Kathy,

I’ve been thinking of you since you left us last week. Somehow, friends who die are still with me. And I write them letters, because that’s the way I do it.
More than any other person I’ve ever known, I can say that you loved what you loved. I mean it. Capital letters.

Most, you loved your husband, Bill ( an exceptional man) fiercely and devotedly. He loved you to distraction too, and it showed every time we saw you together. I will never forget your story of 9/11. Bill was at the Library of Congress and you were at the Old Executive Office Building next to the White House. Evacuation was ordered. Washington was in chaos. Phones were not working. Traffic was beyond snarled. Planes were said to be approaching to finish the job started in New York. You, in your motorized wheelchair, went to the corner where Bill always picked you up. And waited, knowing that your battery would eventually fail. I can’t imagine how you remained calm for the two hours it took, but I know you did. Because you knew Bill would come.

Next, you loved your friends. You had them from childhood. From college, from church, from work, from your neighborhood, and others I didn’t even know about. Some of us let old friendships fade, but not you. You cherished your friends and we knew it. You cared what happened to us. Life events were marked, large and small.
Notes, flowers, pep talks, phone calls and surprise offers like a ticket to Hamilton came our way. Our dinner discussion group, begun in the 1990s survives to this day. You kept us together, you and your fantastic organizational skills.

Speaking of which, your skills as an organizer and doer led you to some fantastic jobs, but you never bragged or dropped names. You were a “Government Girl”, just as you wished, way back in Kenosha. You worked until you couldn’t do it anymore, and reluctantly gave it up. In your last job, John Podesta hired you as his first and only employee when he founded the Center for American Progress. When you left there were 150 employees, many more now, and I bet they are using some of the systems you put in place.

What else did you love? Flowers, books, music, theater, art and cooking. Perhaps not in that order, but you did care for them all passionately, and found time for them. I like to think flowers were our special thing, and I loved your responses to my photos of orchids and other plants that grow in Florida.

Looking back, I see I have forgotten something. You loved life, until it became, for you, unlivable. Bill’s death was a blow. So were worsening symptoms of your muscular dystrophy. In your 70 years, it led you from difficulty with stairs and walking, to a cane to a motorized wheel chair and finally the need for 24/hour caregivers. And then, two months ago, you moved to assisted living, which barely met your needs. Throughout your life, until Bill’s passing and your need for constant care, you remained upbeat. Treasuring what was to be treasured in your apartment and the world beyond.
For each of us, life is bitter and sweet, dreadful and wonderful, filled with sorrow and joy, but you—your path was preordained. You faced that knowledge with incredible courage and good humor. And in the end, you wished for peace, called in Hospice and told us not to call or visit. It wasn’t because you didn’t love us, it was because you did.
Thanks for being my friend, Kathy.

Your legacy of love remains.

May peace be upon you.

March 11, 2021