New York, 3 Nov 08, 7.30pm:
Toot, Obama’s beloved grandmother, died earlier today.
I was madly trying to catch a bus upstate a couple of hours ago — and most frustratingly missing it.
And so, also missed the TV report and BHO’s brief statement. But a friend called to say he had got a good speech out of it, if one can say that without sounding harsh and framing Obama as a ghastly standard pollie.
From his memoir, one can only say that…
Hold the presses! — he’s just come on, on a CBS repeat. HBO at a rally with the usual cast of thousands arrayed behind him.
He’s saying: “She has gone home. She died peacefully in her sleep. My sister was by her side. So there are tears but there is joy. But I won’t speak of this too long — it’s hard to speak about…”
That’s kind of it, if not too accurately transcribed. But it’s worth noting how close his voice came to breaking.
Anyway, in his terrific and beautifully shaped memoir, Dreams of My Father, written when he was all of 33, Toot looms large as someone who embodied sane and sure values.
It’s a difficult moment, and an inescapable momento mori.
