The agent who serves as my alarm clock almost choked when he first opened the door. Then he noticed both of us were fully clothed.
The same cannot be said for me at this precise moment. I'm standing in the dining room in nothing but boxer shorts, supervising the clean up of a failed experiment in redecorating with cereal. The boys had a food fight this morning and I ended up getting milk and orange juice splattered all over my suit before I could stop it.
From the looks I'm getting from the staff, I gather previous Presidents haven't typically stood around in their underwear displaying an impressive set of scars from a twenty-year-old gunshot wound.
They're going to have to get used to it. I like standing around in my underwear.
Once the mess is cleaned up, I redress and head down to the office. Today is scheduled to be fairly light. I credit that with the fact we haven't had a chance to screw anything up yet.
I'm immersed in an economic report so far over my head I'm contemplating a phone call to Jed Bartlet when Margaret's voice trembles from the doorway.
"Mr. President?"
I look up from the report. "What is it, Margaret?"
"Dr. Bartlet is on the phone."
A sinking feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I pick up the phone when Margaret patches the call through.
"Abbey?"
"He's gone, Josh." Her voice is filled with anguish.
I swallow hard to hold back my own crushing tidal wave of emotion. "When?"
"Just this morning. You were my first call."
I knew he was ill. I just talked to him yesterday before the inauguration. Abbey told me it was pneumonia. If he had been well, they would have come down.
"Are Ellie and Elizabeth there?" I know where Zoey is.
"No."
Grief can do incredible things to people, even those who are prepared for it. For a week after Donna passed away, I had to be told to feed my squalling infant.
"Josh? Where's the formula you got at the store. Jacob needs to be fed."
"Call them. I'll tell Zoey. Don't worry, Abbey, I'll take care of things." Things need to be done which no spouse should have to do, especially without assistance.
"Josh? Come on, Josh, you need to pull it together. Donna's parents will be here tomorrow. You need to go down to the funeral home and make the arrangements. Jed will go with you and I'll watch the boys."
Margaret has CJ standing in front of my desk when I hang the phone up. "I'll tell the rest of the staff and then start calling people."
I nod my approval and stride out of the office, down familiar corridors towards Operations. Secret Service agents scrambling to keep up.
"Charlie?" I'm interrupting his pep talk to the executive assistants.
His face pales at the sound of my voice.
"Sir?" One single word conveys so many questions.
"Abbey called." I explain quietly.
"Josh?"
"Yeah, babe?"
"It's bad."
"How bad?"
"The tumor is malignant. The cancer isn't just in the breast."
"What are you telling me, Donna?"
"The only way they can treat it would kill the baby and it will only increase my life expectancy by a year."
"I don't want to lose you."
"I can't do that, Joshua. I can't. We've lost too many to abort this one."
"If they don't treat it?"
"Six months at the most."
Charlie follows me to Communications. Zoey, our media director, is explaining something to her staff.
"Don't you agree, Mr. President?" She asks me when I stop in her part of the Communications bullpen.
"Zoey."
She looks from me to Charlie and back to me, fear surfacing in her eyes.
"Your mother called."
"No." She whispers it, covering her mouth with her hands, begging it to not be true.
"He passed away this morning." I say the words and make it real.
"Joshua?"
"Donnatella?"
"Promise me something?"
"Anything."
"Promise me you won't be mad at me."
"Never, Donna. I will never be mad at you."
"I need to go."
"I know."
"I love you."
"My heart belongs to you. It always will."
"NO!" Zoey's knees give out. I catch her. Wrapping her in my arms, we sink to the floor together. Charlie kneels next to us, his hand a reassuring presence on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Senator. She's gone."
"I know. I just… Can I have just a moment with her, please?"
Here and now, I am not the President of the United States. I am the older brother Zoey never had growing up. I am her friend. I am the immovable object with whom she has weathered so many storms. I am the irresistible force who has believed in her for so many years. I am her stalwart proponent, the one took a bullet for her.
"Why, Josh? Why?" She begs me for answers between her sobs. Answers I still don't have after long years of contemplation.
"I don't know, Zoey. I don't know."
"Papa? Why did Mama go away?"
"I don't know, son."
"Are you going away?"
"No, Jonah. I'll be right here."
"Tell me where Mama went, Papa."
"She went to heaven, Jonah."
"I want my Mama. Make Mama come home, Papa."
We sit, the three of us, on the floor of the Communications bullpen while Jed's youngest daughter unburdens her aching heart. I'm not even cognizant of CJ joining us, but she and Charlie finally help Zoey up. Out of habit, more than anything I suppose, they set off towards the Residence. Some of the older Secret Service agents cutting a path no staffer would dare cross.
I go out to the South Lawn where, Agent Williamson informs me, his agents are getting their butts kicked in a snowball fight. My somber appearance quells the action and brings my sons to my side. Isaac's bright eyes search for some reassurance that I do not bring unwelcome news.
"Your Grandma Abbey called this morning," I begin, choosing my words carefully. "You know Grandpa has been sick."
Those bright blue eyes glisten with tears and Isaac turns and runs from me before I can finish, unwilling to hear me say the words.
"He died, didn't he?" Jonah asks, looking in the direction his surrogate brother went.
"Yes, Jonah. This morning." I confirm.
"Is Grandpa with Mama?" Jacob directs his question to Jonah, who nods in response.
"Jonah, will you take Jacob upstairs?" I ask, deciding that I will be the one to go after Isaac.
"One more game, Toby."
"You just want to kick my ass again."
"You getting old or something?"
"Trying to save some energy for CJ tonight."
"Hot date?"
"Something like…"
"Toby!"
Agent Williamson directs me to the guard shack near the front gate, where a couple of young Marines have given Isaac refuge. They jump to their feet when I enter the small, but heated, building.
"Can you give us a minute?" I don't really want to send the young men out into the cold, but need to talk to Isaac alone.
A sharp "yes, sir" precedes their hasty exit.
Once alone with this boy I accepted as my own, I sit on the floor next to his chair.
"It's okay to be sad, Isaac." I tell him after a few minutes of silence.
"How did my dad die?"
Spend time with young children and you become accustomed to the twists and turns their minds take, especially the two who share Donna's and my genes. Overexposure to them has brought forth the same traits in Toby's son.
Isaac knows I was with his dad when he died, but he has never asked me about. CJ and I discussed it once a few years ago and agreed the best course would be to tell him the truth if he ever asked.
"Your dad had a heart attack while we were playing racquetball."
"Did he die right away?"
"No," I admit. "He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital."
"Was he awake?"
"Josh?"
"I'm here, Toby."
"Promise me you'll help Claudia."
"I swear, Toby. On my grandfather's grave, I'll take care of them like they're my own."
"Yes, he was. That's when he asked me to take care of you and your mom."
"What did you do?"
"After I promised him I'd take care of you, I told him he was my brother and I loved him; that I owed him my life."
"Was he in pain?"
"Some. He knew he was dying. He tried to hang on to see you and your mom again, to say goodbye. It wasn't meant to be that way."
The silence between us is profound as Isaac struggles to put his next question into words. Unshed tears fill his eyes as he crawls off his chair and onto the floor next to me. I allow him to seek comfort in my arms, offering him what strength he needs.
"Why?"
Isn't that the eternal question, really? Why do these things happen to us? I suppose if I had the answer, I could find the peace I've been searching for my whole life. I hesitate to contemplate the number of times I've pleaded with someone for the reasons behind the agony in my life.
When I was struggling to explain Donna's death to Jonah, my rabbi offered several bits of advice to help me. Some of it I understood at the time and some of it I didn't.
"It is not wise to lay the blame for death at the feet of God in the presence of those who do not understand the purpose of death," he told me. "He gives us only those trials from which we will learn and grow. Without death in this world, we cannot live forever in the next one. Each of us has a purpose here and when it is fulfilled, we move on. If a man lives a righteous life, he may be rewarded in the afterlife."
Only now, as I repeat those long forgotten words to Isaac, do I understand them fully. They do little to lessen the pain of grief, but they make accepting loss a bit easier.
I apologize to the guards for inconveniencing them and usher Isaac back to the Residence. Jonah is waiting for us at the entrance. Together, he and Isaac head for their room. Confident these two mismatched brothers will take care of one another, I return to work in an attempt to make things normal.
I find Jacob in the Oval Office, sitting in my chair reading his favorite Dr. Seuss book, Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are? I lean over the chair and ruffle the top of his head to get his attention.
"Papa, can I go to work with you today?" The earnest request makes me chuckle, since he is sitting in my chair at my desk in my office.
"This is work, Sport."
"Oh," he pauses, biting his lower lip. "Can I stay?"
"Sure. Do you want to sit on the sofa?"
"Yeah!" Jacob bounces out of the chair and dives head first into the big sofa. I hand him his backpack, stuffed with much of his Dr. Seuss collection.
For the better part of an hour, I can hear him reading to himself out loud. A brief check on him as I head out the door finds him sound asleep, curled up with Leo the lion.
My day-old administration is aptly prepared to handle something as familiar as death. My Senior Staff has been with me since I first ran for the Senate, many of them holdovers from the Bartlet years. Having found the strength to tell my sons, summoning the strength to tell the American public is a simple task.
I preempt Carol's afternoon briefing with about 15 minutes warning. The Press Corps scrambles to its feet as I stride to the podium. It has been many years since I stood here for CJ and boldly proclaimed that President Bartlet had a secret plan to fight inflation. A wistful smile reaches my lips at the recollection. Amid the harsh flashbulbs of ill-prepared photographers, I tell everyone to take their seats.
"It is my duty on this day to be the bearer of sad news. Shortly before 11 o'clock, I was informed former President Josiah Bartlet has succumbed to complications brought on by pneumonia. He passed away at 10:30 this morning with his wife, Abigail, at his side. Memorial arrangements are being worked out and will be distributed when they are finalized. I know you join me in extending your sympathies to the Bartlet family in their time of grief."
I take no questions and turn the podium over to Carol. CJ is waiting for me at her desk, Leo's old office, our sanctum in the face of the formality our positions thrust upon us. Away from the world, we gather the protocol officers and begin to make arrangements.