Lessons from TR

I recently finished Edmund Morris’s riveting biography of Theodore Roosevelt’s last years of life called simply Colonel Roosevelt. This larger than life American icon was, at the end, like many of us; dying in his sleep, exhausted, in pain and too young for the end. Morris eloquently wrote “today his death would be called a myocardial infarction . . . but he died of a broken heart.” Morris noted that months earlier TR’s son Quentin died in an air battle over France during the final year of World War I. He tried to present a brave front, yet Roosevelt was often discovered alone, weeping over his precious son.



These past four weeks have been the most trying days of my incarceration since my sentence was handed down in February, 2009. I have been told things in letters and during visits that have literally shaken and hurt me to the core. I am suffering and I am struggling. For the first time in years I have allowed myself to dwell on the injustice of my sentence. I have found myself near tears, whether running or lying in my bunk late at night, asking God “how much more do You want from me?” I have prayed for no mail, prayed for all of it to end. Still, another day rolls along and I go forward. And, the same cycle repeats itself.


I have a group of young guys who hang out around me. All are in their early twenties to early 30’s. Big S came and spoke to me the other day. “Opie’s worried about you. Go Chez, and E, and Jordan, and Bades, they want to help.” All these guys remind me, in ways, of my own sons. I was deeply touched by their concern. Who would have thought men in prison would be moved to care for a 51 year old man from a world totally different from their own.


Yet, I had to tell Big S, while I appreciate their concern (even in my despair I feel blessed by their presence), they don’t understand. Like Roosevelt, no one understands the pain and the despair I feel right now. The expression “broken heart” is thrown around so casually, until you actually feel it.


The other night on “House” (I need to be on the show’s payroll!) the story focused on a husband mysteriously dying. He had lied to his wife about losing his job and all their wealth. He pretended everything was normal. In reality, he was leading a secret life. He couldn’t tell his wife the truth. He couldn’t let her down.


Finally, with much coaxing from the medical staff, he lay in his hospital bed and told her the truth. She stormed out yelling “I never loved you. You bastard. I’m done with you.”


Two days later she is called back to the hospital. Emergency surgery is required to keep the husband alive. He is in a coma. His breathing and heartbeat faint. She clutches his hand and whispers “I love you. From the moment we met, I knew I loved you. I didn’t mean what I said.”


The husband’s heart stops. He dies. As with every episode, as the camera focuses on the wife in her pain and grief with her husband lying there, soulful music begins. The refrain sung over and over reverberates in my headphones, “I would sail back to you.”


I have been told by well meaning friends, both inside and out to move on. “Screw it. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.” But, in prison jargon, “I’m not built like that.”


I don’t know what the statute of limitations is for a broken heart. I don’t know how much I have to lose to make up for what I did. I only know I’m hurting terribly and I’m afraid I will for a long time.


Morris noted that only one hymn was used at Roosevelt’s funeral, “How Firm a Foundation”. Ironically that is my ex-wife’s favorite hymn. In a spartan service, the minister recited the words to this powerful hymn taken from the book of Isaiah:


“When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie, My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply.”


I received a letter from a friend who provides me with Godly advice. The letter simply concluded “surrender to Him and trust.” Right now, that’s the only thing keeping me hopeful!