Kati.” After some idle chatter, we took our leave of Rangel. Richard, a veteran of Washington’s sometimes cruel local customs, often said it’s the people who are suddenly down and out that we always have to be nice to. It’s easy to be nice to those on the up-and-up.
Greeting scores of friends and colleagues, we made our way to our seats. I am trying now to recall how good it felt to be part of our couple. Just a few months before, we had been honored by the Asia Society as one of five Great Couples. How long ago it now seems. In accepting the award, I had said I had no idea how I would get anything done without Richard’s support.
• • •
One month after that glittering evening, as I held tight to my children’s hands, we entered the Kennedy Center. I noticed a tall, blond woman, alone and hunched inside her black coat. In Washington you notice people who are trying not to be noticed at public events. Diane Sawyer—Richard’s partner formany years before I came into his life. She had written me the briefest and most generous note. “At the core of Richard Holbrooke,” Diane wrote, “was his deep love for you.” I walked over to her to say thank you. Tears were streaming down her face and we exchanged a wordless embrace.
Our friend George Stevens, the producer of the Kennedy Center Honors, organized the memorial and it was remarkable. What President Obama, President Clinton and Secretary of State Clinton, Admiral Mullen, and former UN secretary-general Kofi Annan said about Richard belongs in the history books. Renée Fleming sang “Ave Maria” at my request and I have rarely heard anything so piercingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. Backstage, as we waited to speak, I stood with President Obama, his arm around my shoulder, looking at a photomontage of Richard projected on the stage. What struck me was how much older Richard looked in the final months than even a year before. Pictures of him with Karzai in Kabul, with various generals in Islamabad, in refugee camps and on military bases, showed a man aging before our eyes. When he was home he was happy and relaxed and I was too busy enjoying our brief reunions to notice. “He aged so much on this job,” I exclaimed. Later, I hoped the president did not take that as a rebuke. He told me he had worked on his eulogy late into the night, looking for the perfect poem by Yeats—Richard’s favorite. He was warm and easy to be with. “Well,” he said looking out at the packed Kennedy Center, “this tribute may even exceed Richard’s expectations.”
I spoke at this and the other two memorials. His death hadmade me feel helpless. However painful, speaking about Richard was something within my power, something I could do.
I had another reason for speaking. Most people knew Richard for his intelligence, his appetite for work and for friendship. He shared very little of his personal life—even when he was with his close friends. I wanted to fill in that missing dimension. “Richard was a very good husband,” I said at the Kennedy Center. “There were no boundaries between our personal and professional lives. We gave each other great courage—knowing the other was always there. Not a single day passed—wherever he was—without a phone call.”
Nor did we ever go to sleep on a quarrel, I thought, but I did not say this.
After the memorial, at the reception on the roof of the Kennedy Center, I shook thousands of hands. Foreign ministers, generals, ambassadors, and old friends who had traveled far to be there; I didn’t reach them all.
But my day was not yet over. The American ambassador to Afghanistan, General Karl Eikenberry, called on me at my hotel. “Our embassy—the largest in the world—is Richard’s creation,” he said, presenting me with the Stars and Stripes, which had flown half-mast over the Kabul embassy. “General Petraeus will present you the flag which flew half-mast over NATO headquarters.” I thanked him for making
Greeting scores of friends and colleagues, we made our way to our seats. I am trying now to recall how good it felt to be part of our couple. Just a few months before, we had been honored by the Asia Society as one of five Great Couples. How long ago it now seems. In accepting the award, I had said I had no idea how I would get anything done without Richard’s support.
• • •
One month after that glittering evening, as I held tight to my children’s hands, we entered the Kennedy Center. I noticed a tall, blond woman, alone and hunched inside her black coat. In Washington you notice people who are trying not to be noticed at public events. Diane Sawyer—Richard’s partner formany years before I came into his life. She had written me the briefest and most generous note. “At the core of Richard Holbrooke,” Diane wrote, “was his deep love for you.” I walked over to her to say thank you. Tears were streaming down her face and we exchanged a wordless embrace.
Our friend George Stevens, the producer of the Kennedy Center Honors, organized the memorial and it was remarkable. What President Obama, President Clinton and Secretary of State Clinton, Admiral Mullen, and former UN secretary-general Kofi Annan said about Richard belongs in the history books. Renée Fleming sang “Ave Maria” at my request and I have rarely heard anything so piercingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. Backstage, as we waited to speak, I stood with President Obama, his arm around my shoulder, looking at a photomontage of Richard projected on the stage. What struck me was how much older Richard looked in the final months than even a year before. Pictures of him with Karzai in Kabul, with various generals in Islamabad, in refugee camps and on military bases, showed a man aging before our eyes. When he was home he was happy and relaxed and I was too busy enjoying our brief reunions to notice. “He aged so much on this job,” I exclaimed. Later, I hoped the president did not take that as a rebuke. He told me he had worked on his eulogy late into the night, looking for the perfect poem by Yeats—Richard’s favorite. He was warm and easy to be with. “Well,” he said looking out at the packed Kennedy Center, “this tribute may even exceed Richard’s expectations.”
I spoke at this and the other two memorials. His death hadmade me feel helpless. However painful, speaking about Richard was something within my power, something I could do.
I had another reason for speaking. Most people knew Richard for his intelligence, his appetite for work and for friendship. He shared very little of his personal life—even when he was with his close friends. I wanted to fill in that missing dimension. “Richard was a very good husband,” I said at the Kennedy Center. “There were no boundaries between our personal and professional lives. We gave each other great courage—knowing the other was always there. Not a single day passed—wherever he was—without a phone call.”
Nor did we ever go to sleep on a quarrel, I thought, but I did not say this.
After the memorial, at the reception on the roof of the Kennedy Center, I shook thousands of hands. Foreign ministers, generals, ambassadors, and old friends who had traveled far to be there; I didn’t reach them all.
But my day was not yet over. The American ambassador to Afghanistan, General Karl Eikenberry, called on me at my hotel. “Our embassy—the largest in the world—is Richard’s creation,” he said, presenting me with the Stars and Stripes, which had flown half-mast over the Kabul embassy. “General Petraeus will present you the flag which flew half-mast over NATO headquarters.” I thanked him for making
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