Joined hands are a bridge to lasting strength and forgiveness

Elizabeth Edwards was remembered for many wonderful attributes at her funeral in Raleigh, N.C., Saturday. Her humor and energy, her beauty and grace, her intellect and lack of ego.

But lost in the well-deserved tributes to the woman whose rollercoaster life was cut short at 61 was the most striking detail of all. As she lay dying of breast cancer, Edwards held not just the hand of her 28-year-old daughter, Cate, but also the hand of her estranged husband, John, telling both, "I'm OK. I'm OK."

She was way more than that.

It's easy to say that John didn't deserve to be in the room, and certainly didn't deserve comfort from the woman shattered not just by his painfully public infidelity but also by news that he fathered a child. But if you haven't figured out by now that human relationships are complicated, you haven't been paying attention.

It's unclear whether she did it for him or for herself or for their children. I'm guessing all three. What is certain is that the gesture did not surprise many who have walked similar paths of heartache, or supported those who have.

"I'm amazed at how often people with fractured relationships come back together at the end of life, and how helpful that is for the survivors," said Nancy Gelle, manager of palliative care and hospice at Park Nicollet Health Services. Gelle has been "privileged" to do hospice work for 31 years and is "amazed at how resilient humanity is."

Resilient, yes. Perfect, no. Sometimes, not everyone in a family is ready to walk the path of forgiveness at the same time, Gelle said. "Sometimes, you have to make it the best it can be." While the final days, then hours of Edwards' life may or may not have been "the lovely, perfect scenario" presented, she made wise choices, Gelle said.

She wrote letters to her children, telling them, in essence, "I will always be a part of you. That will help them, but it also helps the person who is dying."

Holding John's hand, she believes, was an acknowledgment that "this is the father of my children," and a green light "for his relationship with them to be good going forward."

Social worker Jean Campbell also was moved that Edwards literally reached out to her husband. "She knew how to get her needs met," Campbell said, "so if she didn't want him there, she would have let him know."

Campbell has worked for Fairview Hospice for 17 years. Like Gelle, she has seen numerous examples of conflict and tension, separations and divorces, that soften with time, leading some estranged partners to return as caregivers or, at least, to give or receive forgiveness.

"It says a lot about commitment," Campbell said. "Life is a series of ups and downs."

Examples abound in our own lives. A co-worker sends flowers to her ex-husband, who is in serious condition after surgery. A divorced man in his 70s, heartbroken after the "love of his life" leaves him, eventually supports her through the seminary, and "would certainly hold her hand at the end."

A woman who walked out on her marriage eventually supports her ex-husband through chemical dependency treatment. He, in turn, supports her father through a surgery that saves his life.

William Doherty, professor in the Department of Family Social Science at the University of Minnesota, speculates that this wave of reaching out is just gaining momentum. "Now that the Baby Boomers, the 'divorce revolutionaries,' are getting older, we are going to see more opportunities for healing at the end of life," Doherty said. "What a gift to the kids."

Mary Moloney a Twin Cities-based consultant who has worked with at-risk families for 30 years, fully agrees. "Through crises, people see how life could be," Moloney said. "No matter what the pain and suffering of the past, what a powerful thing it is to do for our children, to focus on the possibilities."

She speaks from personal experience, as well. Moloney is divorced, a breast cancer survivor, and has lost two children. She can relate to the Edwards' loss of their 16-year-old son in a way that few can. The second death sent her spiraling into addiction. She gave up her children to her former husband, lost her home and job. Finally, she realized that she didn't want to die with so many bridges burned.

Now 72, Moloney is healthy, busy and "such good friends" with her former husband, "it's unbelievable." She sees only possibilities.

"People either grow up, or they don't," Moloney said. "The crises of your life either make you or break you. When darkness descends upon you, like it did Elizabeth Edwards, you wake up and pay attention. It's life in the raw."

She doesn't begin to guess what John Edwards was thinking as he held Elizabeth's hand. But she has a hunch about what went through the mind of the woman with whom he shared so many years, and so much joy and pain.

"You could feel her radiating love," Moloney said. "That woman went to a higher place and showed us the way."

Gail Rosenblum • 612-673-7350 • gail.rosenblum@startribune.com