View from the East Wing

Prologue

“Once you lose a child, nothing can hurt you.”

Few knew Beau was dying. For his sake and that of his wife, Hallie, and for their two small children, we couldn’t bear the thought of public discussion around his illness.

Those months I felt like I was walking through water, barely pushing through, trying to breathe, not believing it was possible that he would die.

Beau was special. Really, ask anyone who knew him—friends or enemies.

I could not imagine God taking him, but He did.

I had trouble believing in a higher power or a just universe that would let Beau suffer, much less leave his children fatherless.

My entire family was out of control, spinning with grief.

Joe and I numbly put one foot in front of the other. We kept moving.

Later, throughout the years we spent in the White House, I felt steeled against whatever happened. Whenever things got really bad—as they did—I knew that I’d been through much worse.

The saving grace was that we had our health.

Every single day, I remembered to give thanks in my morning prayers for our health.

Then I asked for strength to help my family endure whatever challenges we might face.

Joe and I could always find a way to cope through the bad times by saying to each other, “We still have our health. Our children and grandchildren are healthy.”

So it came as a surprise to me when, just four months after we left office, we found out that Joe had an aggressive form of prostate cancer that had metastasized to his bones.

Prostate cancer was one thing, but the metastasis turned it into something infinitely worse.

Hormone therapy would always be part of his life.

Daily meds would always be needed to keep cancer’s progression at bay.

What were the side effects going to be? How much of what happened in the future would be a result of medication versus aging?

It was impossible to know. And yet, after Beau’s death, I knew there was nothing Joe and I couldn’t handle together. Nothing.