Dear Mrs. Edwards:
Hello, how are you? How’s your health these days? I hope you’re feeling well. My Grandma used to say, “Better out than in.” To me this meant anything from diarrhea to bad feelings was better off not being housed in the body. And as you’ve demonstrated in your two books, you do get your emotions out. Good for you.
I thoroughly enjoyed your first book, Saving Graces. In fact after reading it, when I received a fundraising email from your husband, I sent a donation along with a fan letter to you. I doubt you received it. But it was only the second fan letter I have ever written in my life. The first was over thirty years prior to that when I wrote a letter to a guy from my high school who won a silver medal in swimming at the Olympics. That feat overwhelmed me. So did your book.
I had never read before about the devastating grief a mother feels for the loss of a child the way you wrote about Wade. It’s impossible to read that section without crying. The part that got to me the most was when you called your mother to tell her the horrible news and “you heard the real sound of grief” from your father. “His voice was the sound of pre-language pain, guttural and civilized, and the most powerful and mournful sound man can utter.” I know exactly what you’re talking about. I’ve made that sound before.
On a lighter note, I got a kick out of the story you told about getting a juice stain on your blouse while on the way to a campaign event. You tried to find Spray-n-Wash wipes at a store but couldn’t. So you ended up buying a replacement sweater at Goodwill. Love that. Do you think Teresa Heinz Kerry shops there? (Oh wait; she wouldn’t even spend the night at your house.)
And I really loved that you compiled the lyrics of 5,000 songs into a songbook for sing-alongs. What a terrific idea! If I ever run into you, I hope you whip out the songbook and we can do a rousing duet of “Mack The Knife.”
I did not read your second book, Resilience,, but I heard about it. Frankly, it seemed like a cop-out and a lame apology for your husband’s despicable behavior. Whatever transpires between the two of you in your marriage is your business. But when a politician is hiding something as ugly as adultery and asks for donations from people who do not have this knowledge, and his wife also knows about it, then the two are complicit in this fraud.
You said in Book #2 that when your husband decided to run for President, you only knew about a one-night stand—not the whole sordid affair. One instance is one too many. In hindsight you said your husband should not have run for President. You think? You both showed contempt and disrespect to the American public in general and specifically to his supporters.
I made three separate donations to your husband to the tune of $300. Had I know about his deplorable behavior, I would not have donated a dime. To take money under false pretenses is called stealing. Kindly tell your husband I want my hard-earned money back! I’d appreciate it.
After this bombshell of infidelity came out, I had finally had it with all politicians. I’m convinced they all lie, cheat, and scam their way into office—because integrity means nothing to them and they think that’s the only way to get elected. A pathetic commentary on America indeed.
You claim your husband is a good man who did “one bad thing.” Oh brother. There were plenty of infidelities, lies, deceptions, cover-ups, and false posturings heaped on many people. Taking my Granny’s advice of “better out than in,” you need to clean out the cobwebs from your brain so you can count past one—and then reconcile with that number.
Lastly, looking forward to getting my refund. And looking forward to seeing you raise your children and working at the Red Door for many happy, peaceful, and song-filled years to come.
I read that you want your children to remember you as someone who when faced with the winds of adversity, adjusted her sails. I like that.
Here’s a poem for you by John O’Donohue with a wee-bit-o wind in it. Hope it comforts you.
Beannacht
(“Blessing”)On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.
Take care.
Sincerely,
Toni Dockter
