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Tony Snow

Since Tony Snow died, many have written about him. On the Right, the obituaries are sympathetic. On the left they are pathetic and despicable. I've only read some of them. I think the best pieces written about Snow, were written by the man himself. When it's my time, I hope I display the same fortitude, the same class, the same wit. I hope I can come close to the picture Tony Snow gives of his own battle with cancer.

How to be Sick, by Tony Snow

We live in an anaesthetized society. People have developed an almost hysterical aversion to pain, leading the Kevorkians among us to persuade frightened fools to prefer a numb death to a life buffeted by aches and pains.

Peter has discovered that diseases can humble us, hobble us, wear us down — but that only we can surrender our dignity and open the door to despair. The secret of learning to be sick is this: Illness doesn't make you less of what you were. You are still you. In many cases, a bout with sickness stretches your soul, opens your eyes, and introduces you to a world of unimagined grandeur, possibility and joy.

Counting our blessings and passing them on, by Tony Snow

Winston Churchill once noted that there is nothing quite so thrilling as being shot at without effect. One can say much the same thing of grappling with cancer, with one difference: When a bullet passes, you know it. When cancer passes, you have to wait at least five years to mop your brow in relief.

Still, the last few months — my time of surgery and chemo — have been the happiest and most thrilling of my life. They have confirmed lessons that seem at once too good to be true, and too important and vital not to be.

Tony Snow's critics are mental, moral, and emotional pygmies. They should be ashamed of the stupidity that they've demonstrated since Snow died. If they were a tiny bit smarter, they would realize how truly lame they are.

Labels: Tony Snow

posted by Harry @ 12:01 PM