As the sun set on the hillside of that most hallowed ground overlooking the capitol of the republic that he so tirelessly served, a lone man played Taps.

That song and those 21 gun shots, pound like nails in a coffin of finality.

A co-worker of mine had a Twitter update that said, "Washington, DC is such a special place to live. When something happens here, the world watches."

The world has always watched the Kennedy's. The world watched as its strongest country was led by three brothers through one of its most difficult times. It watched as that country showed the same weakness and unwillingness to change that they themselves had long experienced. It watched as the youngest, the baby, Ted became the lion that would lead for decades in the cause of those people that were human.

And it watched as that country, so changed and progressed, laid the final brother to rest, back at home next to the two other icons of his iconic family. And yes, an era of American and world history lays on that hillside. Living on by the eternal flame.




Ted Kennedy was not a hero. Heroes have one great act and are superhuman. Ted Kennedy was human. Only someone who had failed as greatly as he had could understand so uniquely the plight of humans. And only a human with his influence could fight for those people for five decades. No, Ted Kennedy was a legend. Someone of his stature, with his compassion, could only seem mythical.

He was legendary in the sense of the quote from the great children's movie, The Sandlot: "Heroes get remembered, but legends never die."