A STIRRING . . .

For reasons completely unknown, I am utterly moved by this week dedicated to the late President Ronald Reagan. For a man I never knew, for a President I hardly agree with in hindsight, for a leader whose political, economic and social legacies are still criticized and which I do not fully understood, for a personality whose biography I haven't even read (yet -- I just put it on my list), I grieve deeply.

As far as I can tell, it's the mere process of dealing with the fact that a man larger than life, a man whose careers spanned all spectrums, a man who for all intents and purposes dedicated the latter part of his life to service to his country and countrypeople, is dead. Almost everything I read about President Reagan now tells me he loved this country and had the most optimistic, idealistic goals for this nation. I find that ... well, I find it admirable. Politics is so political. There is almost no room for optimism or idealism. President Reagan seemingly had both. I don't see anyone these days who has either. The end of an era, indeed.

But it's also the visual and aural effect: the sweeping view of thousands of people thronging Constitution Avenue as President Reagan's flag-draped coffin slowly rolls forth on a single horse-drawn caisson. The perfectly straight lines of military personnel accompanying the cortege. The hooded and riderless horse, with backwards-facing boots in its stirrups. The silently flickering red and blue lights of the police escorts. The long line of black cars carrying the family, who must be gazing out at the crowd in awe at the turnout. The crowds politely but warmly applauding the motorcade, trying to send greetings to Mrs. Reagan and her family. The Air Force flyover, with jets in the missing man formation. The slow walk into the Capitol Rotunda, in the people's house. The members of Congress, the Supreme Court, the current administration, diplomats, guests standing at attention throughout the evening ceremony. Mrs. Reagan sitting, surrounded by all of these people who have come to honor her dead husband. Mrs. Reagan leaning on the arm of her military escort for support. Mrs. Reagan running her hand across her husband's casket. The Armed Forces Guard of Honor keeping continuous watch over the President, through the night, into the morning, until Friday.

It's also the observation that people are willing to put aside their differences when it matters, when it is more important to honor one person together than to dishonor each other disparately, when it is more significant to remember one's excellent qualities than to emphasize the points of difference.

I am utterly, utterly moved.