A Fighting Chance

Now it was time for a final surge of stump speeches and rallies and get-out-the-vote drives. Adam and I crisscrossed the state in the Blue Bomber. Mindy and Tracey ran the headquarters like seasoned generals, while Roger and Jess lived out of their cars as they rallied troops everywhere. Bruce met with volunteers and spoke at events, turning in surprisingly passionate stump speeches for his sweetie. We made plans to fly the kids and grandkids and nieces and nephews to Boston for the big day.

Six days before the election, Halloween arrived. That evening, I stood out on the front porch and admired all the kids coming by to trick-or-treat. Photographers did their best to capture the candy traditions at our house and compare them with those at the Browns’ home. It seemed that nothing could escape politics, not even our choice of treats on Halloween. As the night went on, a raucous party across the street spilled outside and turned into a parade over to our house to meet the candidate and take lots of silly pictures.

Throughout these festivities, Otis should have been right there beside me. He liked visitors. Besides, this was a night when little kids came to the door to pet him and drop yummy treats on the floor. What could be better?

When the doorbell rang the first few times, Otis pulled himself to his feet and stood in the hall while kids came in to pet him. At one point he lumbered out into the front yard to survey the sidewalks and reflect on all the activity. But after he came back into the house, he lay down and didn’t get back up. He rested his head between his big front feet, his jowls spread out on the floor. As I went back and forth from the door to the candy bowl, he followed me with his huge brown eyes.

When Bruce and I turned out the porch light for the evening, Otis had trouble making it upstairs. Later, in the dark, I listened to his labored breathing.

Early the next morning, we took Otis back to Angell Memorial. His vet was kind, but she made it very clear that Otis was in a lot of pain. “He could hang on for a few more days, Elizabeth, but he’s doing it just for you. He’s ready to go.”

I was long past the unfairness of it all, but I didn’t want to lose him, at least not yet. Couldn’t he stay just a little longer?

Bruce said it was time to let him go. Finally, I agreed.

We sat on the floor with him and said our good-byes. I rubbed his big head and scratched behind his ears. I remembered the puppy who had flopped down on the air-conditioning vent and the big doggie who had let the grandchildren crawl all over him. I thought about how when life was tough, he would nuzzle me and somehow remind me of more important things in the world.

After Otis died, Bruce and I held him for a long time.

With the election only five days away, Bruce and I decided not to say much about Otis. It wasn’t a political calculation. I knew that if word got out, people would open their hearts. There would be hugs and “I’m sorry” everywhere I went. And once I started to cry, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

So we kept the news close, just Bruce and me and a few other people. I told myself: In five days, I can cry. But right now, I’ve got to close it off. I have to keep going just a little longer.





We Will Win

November 6, 2012: Election Day. It was exactly fifty years to the day that Massachusetts had voted to send a young Ted Kennedy to the US Senate for the first time.

Now, after fifteen months of nearly nonstop campaigning, it all came down to this day. The meetings and the rallies, the fundraising and the ads, the debates and the trackers—all that was over, and now it was up to the voters. Would Scott Brown hang on to the seat Kennedy had held for nearly half a century, or would I pry it loose? Today was the day the people of Massachusetts would decide.

Early in the morning, Bruce and I walked over to the nearby elementary school where we had voted for nearly twenty years. We formed a kind of makeshift parade, with a small herd of family, neighbors, and well-wishers tumbling down the sidewalk together. My niece Melinda had made matching blue satin headbands with “WARREN” spelled out in silver glitter across the top for the little girls, and they walked to the school in full glory.

Bruce and I have a running joke: I never tell him how I voted. But the joke has a point, because I take democracy seriously, and that includes the sanctity of the polling booth. And on that morning, standing in the little portable voting booth with its red, white, and blue canvas curtain, I saw my name on the ballot for the United States Senate.