Even though I told myself to stay positive, it drove me crazy when others counseled Jay to do the same. Yes, I believe there is a powerful connection between body and mind. But I take issue with the notion that somehow, through sheer determination, people in Jay’s situation would be able to muster “the will to live” and cure their own illness. I hated those four words. Cemeteries are full of people who had the will to live. Sometimes biology and the limits of modern medicine conspire against you.
I had read an article about how more children would be dealing with this because couples were having children later—parents were just older than they used to be. I worked with the Child Mind Institute to put together a handbook for New York private schools that provided support for anyone who suddenly found themselves a single parent. Years later, I hosted a video called “When Families Grieve” for Sesame Street in which real families shared their stories of loss （and Elmo came to terms with the passing of his uncle Jack）。
IN THE YEARS following Jay’s death, Ellie was in denial. At summer camp in Maine, she sent letters home addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Jay Monahan. My heart sank whenever I saw one on the mail table. On visiting day, always a huge deal for campers, Ellie told friends her dad was on a business trip. But when she was 11, she had a breakthrough. The camp directors wrote to tell me that during an assembly of 300 people to discuss what good cause the camp should make a donation to, Ellie addressed the group. Her recollections of her father, her explanation of colorectal cancer and the lifesaving importance of early detection, reduced the room to tears; her peers chose to donate to our cancer awareness campaign. The directors called it a “miraculous growth step.”
Just a toddler when her father died, Carrie had her own way of processing the loss. One morning when she was 3, she told me her dad had flown through her bedroom window the night before, knelt down at her bedside, and said, “Carrie, I’m so proud of you.” I imagined her innocent, uncalcified heart being open to just such a visitation. A teacher told me that when a kindergarten classmate asked Carrie where her father was, Carrie said, “He’s sitting in this chair, right next to me.” Then the hard questions came. “Why,” Carrie asked, “did my dad die of Kansas?”
I tried to bring Jay up the most natural way I could as often as I could. Over hamburgers at a neighborhood place, I’d talk about how much ketchup their dad slathered on his. When Carrie smiled, I’d tell her she smiled just like him. We’d attempt to play his bugles, managing a few breathy squeaks before dissolving into giggles. Of course there were framed photographs of Jay everywhere in the apartment, endless configurations of him with the girls—holding them, hugging them, like there was no tomorrow.
40
Safe, Sane, and Secure
AFTER FOUR WEEKS on autopilot signing preprinted thank-you cards at the dining-room table with a brigade of moms, I knew it was time to go back to work. Although I still felt disoriented, I thought resuming a routine was probably the best thing I could do. And I wanted to express my appreciation to all the viewers who had kept me in their prayers, sending Mass cards by the bushel and deeply personal notes from widows preparing me for what lay ahead.
Tuesday, February 24th. I wore a black suit and Jay’s wedding ring on a chain around my neck. Jeff decided we would tape the open instead of doing it live. That way, if I broke down, we could just do it again. The first time I tried it, I sounded shaky and my words came cascading out.
“Do you want to try again?” Jeff asked in my earpiece. Before I could answer, he said, “Let’s do it again. Try to slow down a bit. You’re doing great.” Somehow I managed.
Five, four, three, two, one—cue Matt.
“Good morning. President Clinton says he welcomes the UN’s new agreement with Iraq and will wait to hear the final details later today, February 24th, 1998.”
Cue theme music. Our director, Joe Michaels, takes a wide shot of the studio, then a two-shot as Matt greets the audience: “Welcome to TODAY on this Tuesday morning, I’m Matt Lauer. And nothing makes me happier than to say along with Katie Couric. We missed you, welcome back.”
I pat Matt’s hand and thank him for his support. Then, a single on me speaking into the camera: “Many of you know that I lost my husband, Jay Monahan, my loving and beloved husband, last month after a courageous battle with colon cancer. Words, of course, will never describe how devastating this loss has been for me and my daughters, and for all of Jay’s family as well. But the heartfelt and compassionate letters and cards that so many of you sent to me were enormously comforting and I am so grateful. I am also grateful to those who have made contributions to the National Cancer Institute in Jay’s memory. It is my profound hope that the money can be used to help eradicate this terrible disease, which is second only to lung cancer in the number of cancer deaths in this country every year.”