My cousin, Kirby Brown, died at the too young age of 38 in 2009. Anyone who met her once would tell you she was full of live and love and vigor. She was one of a kind. I don’t mean this writing to be about her (lord knows you can google her name and my name to see the whole story.)
But the 10 days after she died were the most horrific of my life. They were surrounded by questions, a lot of blame, headlines and attention by every network’s morning shows. Her death was a national story, which made the grieving seem like being a sample on the slide of a microscope.
So when her younger brother eulogized her just over a week after her death, more than 400 people jammed in a tiny church in a small New York town you’ve never heard of were expecting a tear jerker. The most horrible pain and loss you can imagine.
His first line? Hysterical.
Her brother chose to celebrate her. And remember her, and laugh at the great memories. He promised to never forget and to speak for her. But he made us laugh. Hard. And it felt great.
He received a standing ovation. At a funeral. A fun-er-al.
So when 13,000 people applauded and rallied and were raucous at the University of Arizona tonight throughout a memorial service, I wasn’t surprised.
The humanity of not only those who were lost, but those who saved lives and acted selflessly in the face of horrific danger – THAT needs to be celebrated. Evil happens. We know that. We will be judged on those moments more than the happy events of our lives.
We need to be proud of our heroes. We need to be proud of our country. And we need to be proud of our leaders – not necessarily the president, but those who helped the victims, those who lent their expertise, those who have said and done the right things since Saturday.
When you live a horrific experience, either in your community or your family, for 5 days, for 10 days, for weeks – you need to laugh. You need to have that uncontrollable, guilty, gigglefest. Or you need to applaud. When I stood and applauded Kirby’s brother Bobby (my cousin, my brother), I felt so much better. I was working something out, getting my grief out in a way most wouldn’t understand.
(As a side note, we didn’t allow news cameras in the church. This was our time. And I’m not sure they would have understood a standing ovation of a eulogy.)
So, Tucson – I get it. I’m proud of you. I’m sorry they referred to you as a “rally” – I know it was pent up energy that doesn’t – and can’t – go anywhere without leadership. Someone to stand before you and tell you it’s okay to feel GOOD about something. To feel encouraged. To feel human. And conflicted.
So let’s stand and applaud all of us. Republicans. Democrats. Those who have never voted. Rednecks. City dwellers. Red states. Blue states. Atheists. The most devout among us. We are all Americans first. Not what we believe. It’s the greatest country in the world, without apology. And I won’t give that up. Not to win a debate (and I LOVE to be right more than most). Not to lose our safety. The little bit of grace we have left.
Make each other proud. Applaud in death. Feel good about the time you had with the departed. Help heal the wounded. And shake the hand of the guy next to you. He might be all you have in a time of tragedy.

I was a newspaper reporter and columnist for almost 10 years. I loved the job. I was good at it and I was respected by those I covered and my readers. So when I left the profession, it must have been for something really good.
I left journalism for politics.
I was the Communications Director for a candidate for governor in Connecticut. Although the candidate was a Democrat, the truth is there were Republicans for whom I would have worked as well. I worked for a candidate I believed in: a brilliant, genuinely kind man who loved public policy and was in politics for all the right reasons. I envisioned working for the governor, being part of a team that worked on policy, discussed issues, and formed legislation.
After months of hard work on the campaign, my candidate joined his opponent on the ticket, agreeing to run for Lt. Gov. with his former rival. That candidate offered to keep me on – the only person from our team to whom they extended that offer. I declined.
I decided to end my career in politics after less than a year. (Thus a great PR career was born/continued). Why did I leave just barely after I started?
• I was disenchanted by the selection process. So many people candidly told us they preferred our guy, but four years ago, they made a promise to the other guy, who yielded to a bigger political name at the time. It was his “turn” they said. I get it, but sacrificing your best chance to win, or not offering voters your best candidate seemed shortsighted to me.
• You had to run left, then run to the middle. In order to get a nomination, we had to “prove” we were the “most Democratic” candidate, that we were more liberal than the other guy. The truth was we were not, and that we had the better chance in a general election. But the people who choose are party stalwarts and they want to be represented. Therefore we had to be the stronger Democrat and then, if we had won the nomination, we would have had to convince the entire state we were the most “centrist” option. Gov. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde.
• Differentiation comes down to personalities. Two Democrats agree on most issues. So the secret was the point out what the differences MEANT. Our guy is the better leader. He can make the tougher choices. Or, on the flip side, you had to look for lies. You had to research the opponent (He says he taught at so-and-so college when he was only a guest lecturer!!)
What does all that mean? It comes down to this:
I was disenchanted by how we selected our candidates and the language we needed to use to get the advantage over the other guy. Inevitably the rhetoric became nasty and people drew lines. Were you a Candidate A guy or a Candidate B girl?
That was 2002. Things since then have gotten much, much worse. Even more than back then, we have sacrificed responsible discourse about the issues for the nasty “gotcha” ads. Almost everyone has a negative taste in their mouth about politics. In a land where we are given complete freedom, we choose to behave in a way for which we were to scold our kids if it were a student body election in their school.
This weekend’s shooting in Tucson, Ariz. have brought these issues front and center.
I don’t know if the shooter acted because a politician put the incumbent in crosshairs on a map; or if he was upset that she broke away from her party and didn’t back Nancy Pelosi for speaker in a meaningless vote last week. But the fact that we know either could be possible is a sad statement for us and a black mark for our country.
So please, let’s not get defensive in this debate, and let’s not blame anyone to make political points. Let us have the discussion about what language is appropriate and a better way of talking to each other and to ourselves. Let’s choose to take our freedom and make choices of which we are proud. While no leader or politician should be blamed or prosecuted for the actions of a crazy person, this situation is a stark reminder that people DO follow leaders. The actions of our leaders, of those in the spotlight, even our celebrities, get noticed and – like it or not – influence people.
We would be touched if a young person chose a life of good works and charity based on the example of an elected leader or candidate. So we can’t act surprised when those outside the margins, those not as healthy mentally as most, also react or are inspired by even otherwise innocent remarks or symbols.
Is it too much to hope that we all treat others as we want to be treated? That we agree to disagree, but don’t resort to shouting? That we don’t take our issues, our politics, personally?
Let’s stop trying to be right; let’s try to do right.
Starting today.