The first time I had an opportunity to speak with Elizabeth Edwards was well before I returned to life as a reporter. We talked as you would imagine two mothers talking — about life, about our hopes for the future, about our children who remain with us and about our children who had died. When we spoke specifically about something I was hoping would change in my life, Elizabeth told me, “First, you’ve got to believe in yourself. Believe.”
From that moment forward, whenever our paths would cross, the first thing I’d see was her smile — the kind that starts with just the mouth, but quickly spreads across the face to rest in the eyes — then I’d hear the greeting: “You still believin’?!?” As soon as I’d say “Hello?” on the phone, she’d respond with the familiar greeting. Cards and notes were signed with the variant: “Don’t stop believin” or “BELIEVE.”
Such a small thing, isn’t it? A chance meeting. A small bond. An inside understanding of something a little bigger than the day’s political rally or press conference.
I watched as she bounced a baby during a political event in Marion. She was sneaking light kisses on the back of the child’s head and neck, while whispering sweet words.
At the library in Vinton, she entered the room and moved first toward a young girl with a cast. Before the girl could ask, Elizabeth had the pen and had knelt down to sign.
That’s who she was — no pretense, no drama, no fuss. It never mattered to Elizabeth if news cameras were rolling or if the hallway was empty, she was going to have meaningful moments with the people who entered her life. She simply cared — a sentiment that is far too often expressed, but not present in American politics.
I’ll miss you, Elizabeth, and I’ll keep the promises we last discussed. Above all else, I’ll keep believing.
She will be greatly missed. Such a special person to touch our lives. We can all certainly learn from this lady what real dignity is.