Losing Effi

Marion Barry was not himself. Or at least not completely so. I've covered the ex-mayor for more years than either of us would likely care to think about, and while I can't claim to know him as a friend--I do know him like a boxer knows an old respected adversary.
I've seen him punch his way out of a corner when we reporters thought he was one tough question away from falling. I've seen him arrogant and joyful, working the crowd like the God-gifted pol he's always been. I've seen him humbled and I've seen him when I suspected he was merely feigning humility.
This was different. Effi had just died. Her seemingly endless endurance and faith finally exhausted by Luekemia. Barry, the master of making folks think what he wants them to think, looked truly forlorn and sad. And to be completely honest, I felt very sad for him.
She had been his wife for 14 years.
"I still love her," he told us.
But the reality was as DC's first lady, Effi Barry had in many ways been defined by her ability to somehow maintain her own dignity in face of the repeated public indignities imposed by her troubled husband.
Yesterday I wanted to ask Barry if he had regrets. If he had ever asked forgiveness and did she offer it? Did he ever wish he hadn't lost her?
But it wasn't the time for all of that. Its just not right to punch a man when he's already down.

PS. I am hereby pledging to do what I should have done years ago and get my bone marrow typed and matched in case I can help someone someday. You should ALL do the same.