In praise, not in sorrow, should we view this painful day

Just when we thought that too many tragedies and tears had marked this bleak December and just when we believe our hearts might turn back to thoughts of Christmas, another blow of unspeakable grief has been inflicted on our nation.

For much as we might try to regard the loss of their sixteen-year old daughter, KC, as a personal one for Joe and Gina de Venecia, you know – and feel – deep down that this poignant and inexplicable tragedy affects us all.

Many by this time have condoled with Gina and Joe, in person, in prayer, and in writing. This is a time though when words and even embraces of affection and commiseration may mean little to a couple whose cherished child was snatched away – on virtually the eve of Christmas and of Joe’s own birthday which is December 25. So I will not even make any vain attempt, except to marvel at how bravely they’ve borne almost the unbearable burden of sorrow.

How does God dole out happiness and pain? One is tempted to ask. Others more blessed with wisdom can perhaps provide the answer, not I. Instead I can only say that it is so admirable how, even in his moment of deepest pain and immediate grief, Joe de Venecia could still thank those who came to help – even the firemen who, many will complain, came too late and with inadequate equipment.

Gina has always been warm, generous and kind, as multitudes who’ve known her would testify – and are already doing so once again.

It is Joe, however, who I know best since I was his professor – "instructor" is the proper word since that was my lowly rank then – in his senior year in college. Joe always wore a smile, was charming, and an eloquent bocadero even then. How he fought his way up the ladder of achievement and success is the stuff of adventure, espionage, swashbuckling business zigzags, and picaresque novels. JDV had his ups and downs, like most of us his faults; and certainly, in politics, no one can achieve the pinnacle without feats of legerdemin, backroom dealing and other acts of panache. But Joe was, without cavil, always a leader of men.

How could anyone manage to tame that menagerie of characters, each one, by profession, an egotist or ego-tripper, which we call the House of Representatives? This is what Sunshine Joe did best of all, with a smile, a quick maneuver, and voilá, a "rainbow coalition". It took a Joe de Venecia to find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, in a country when most of us couldn’t even spot the rainbow. Our besetting sin is that, in a nation of pessimists, we always believe that behind every black cloud there is not a silver lining – but another black cloud.

Joe’s back-to-back international travels were conducted with limitless energy; he met the biggest statesmen – and rogues – with dazzling frequency. He expressed himself with such verve and chutzpah that he was dubbed the Maharajah of Hyperbole. But his love of people and his love of country, were neither hyperbolic nor hypocritical. Both were, and remain, true and sincere.

He cozened, bluffed, conspired and inspired, I’ll venture to say, all for this nation’s good. For, unlike meaner men with less nerve and breadth of purpose, he always had a vision of what our country ought to be, and what we had to aspire for. Enemies he made, critics he has, but Joe, while others slept, or ran away, was forever in there pitching. And for this, I hail him!

Joe has suffered much. He’s lost elections, including a Presidential election. He had a terrible accident which almost took his life. He has had great setbacks, in business and in personal life. He always came back – a boundless optimist, a happy – if weary – warrior. This is why we’re consoled that while Joe and Gina will never forget their child, so painfully lost, they’ll overcome.

What more can I say? Forgive me, for I was always too verbose and will be so to my dying day.

Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy, the devout woman who was literally America’s own Mother of Sorrows – having lost her flier son, Joe, in war, her President son John F. Kennedy, and her Senator son, Bobby, both to assassins whose motives were muddled (and, in a way, her other son Ted – still alive and a Senator – to the strange ignominy of Chappaquiddick) once said through her tears that God never gives us a Cross "too difficult to bear". Or was it "too heavy to bear"? My memory gropes for the correct quotation.

Yet, this is what she said. And no one had more a right to say than she did. Mercifully, Rose Fitzgerald didn’t live long enough to see her grandson, John F. Kennedy Jr., pilot a plane to his own death.

Herman Melville, the novelist (author of Moby Dick), said it well: "Life’s a voyage that’s homeward bound."

Perhaps that’s how we can view this sorrowful day.