Subject: Beau
From: "Alexander S. Mackler" <[email-masked]>
To: "Hallie Biden" <[email-masked]>, "Hunter Biden" <[email-masked]>, "Ashley Biden" <[email-masked]>, "Jill Tracy" <[email-masked]>, "Owens Valerie Biden" <[email-masked]>, "Missy Owens" <[email-masked]>, "Casey Owens" <[email-masked]>, "Cuffe Owens" <[email-masked]>, <[email-masked]>
Date: Wed, 8 Jul 2015 00:14:12 -0400

To Hallie, Hunter, Ashley, and the entire inimitable, expansive Biden clan:

It feels odd saying this to the family that suffered the loss, but these
last few weeks have been a struggle. The gap that Beau left in daily life
presents at unpredictable times. That was never more apparent than on
Father’s Day, because we talked so often about fatherhood. And because he’s
the only man I ever met to whom I can pay my highest possible compliment:
that his kindness, dignity, and beautiful soul reminded me of my dad.

There is no way, even a month later, to add to all the eulogies, articles,
letters, and tributes. No more eloquence than Ashley and Hunter displayed.
Selfishly, though, I needed to do something. So I sat down on Father’s Day,
and periodically thereafter, to do the only thing that's ever brought
comfort: writing. If you’ll indulge the rambling, and the length, as part
of one mourner’s grieving process…

•••

Almost 20 years ago, my dad told us he was sick. And in a child’s flailing
attempt to make sense of the world, I thought it was a sign that some folks
just figured life out too quickly. Because this never happened to bad
people.  The people dealt these sentences were so good at everything they
did; combining remarkable personal character with a Midas professional
touch. Whatever there is to realize in life, I thought, these unlucky few
must have maxed out early and the Lord decided it was time. They made it
look so easy. People who had so much life in their years, it seemed they
didn't need as many years in their life to achieve excellence.

That thought process was the rationalization of a lost kid, a logic that
eventually ceded to the acceptance of an unfair world.  Since then, I’d
forgotten that feeling.  Rudderless. Consumed by grief and sadness. And,
mostly, anger. That John Donne may have been right that any man’s death
diminishes me, but a few crush like none other.  The ones that leave us
begging for any silver lining in a dark cloud.  I’d erased that feeling
from childhood, wondering how any of this could be the work of a benevolent
God.  Until now.

Losing Beau has been particularly difficult because no one believed in me
like he did. The thought of going through life without his
endless—sometimes incessant—encouragement and guidance feels like climbing
a mountain with no rope. One reason his legacy is so extraordinary is
because his investment in my success was the same as his investment in
others’.  He was so many friends’ fiercest advocate—but that commonality
made the bond more special, not less.

Beau’s encouragement was not constrained to professional success.  He and
Hallie were the first people outside our family to know we were pregnant.
His eyes swelled with pride as much as with emotion. That’s why everyone
rushed to him, not just with their secrets or their questions or their
struggles, but also with their accomplishments and celebrations.  When you
knew Beau was proud of you—not just with his words, but the glow in his
eyes—you knew that earning the genuine pride of someone so special was
irreplaceable. It was with that touch that he molded those of us lucky
enough to have known him.

That bottomless supply of positivity and pride was one of Beau’s
trademarks. And it was one reason why I was not the first person to tell
him that he reminded me of William Ernest Henley’s poem about resilience in
the face of adversity.

*Out of the night that covers me, *

*      Black as the pit from pole to pole, *

*I thank whatever gods may be *

*      For my unconquerable soul. *

*In the fell clutch of circumstance *

*      I have not winced nor cried aloud. *

*Under the bludgeonings of chance *

*      My head is bloody, but unbowed. *

*Beyond this place of wrath and tears *

*      Looms but the Horror of the shade, *

*And yet the menace of the years *

*      Finds and shall find me unafraid. *

*It matters not how strait the gate, *

*      How charged with punishments the scroll, *

*I am the master of my fate, *

*      I am the captain of my soul. *

When you strip away the Army fatigues, the overwhelming electoral success,
and the headlines about his professional legacy; what’s left is a man whose
actions were the best interpreters of his thoughts.  A man who was always
there for others—in times good, bad, and mundane. A man whose utter love
for his wife, children, family and friends could not, would not, be
hindered by any diagnosis.

An unafraid, unconquerable soul unbowed by the bludgeonings of chance.

•••

There’s been much talk over the last month of Beau making the people he
touched want to be better. But it’s not just that he made us *want* to be
better. It wasn’t merely a prospective desire that could one day be
overcome by circumstance or complacency.  He *made* us better people,
through nothing but the virtue of his humanity.  He saw all of us as angels
in the marble and carved until he set us free. With his adoration, his
encouragement, his outstretched hand that Hunter spoke of so perfectly.

Beau made me a better son, husband, brother, and now father.  He set me
free.

This world is populated by countless angels crafted by his hands. Angels
who will now spend their lives carving for more.  What better legacy can
one man leave.

See you, love you.

Alex

-- 

Alexander Snyder Mackler
(302) 598-867