Metaphorically, there was a lunch for me. It was my duty to name them, president and mrs. Bush, president and mrs. Bush, president carter, and Vice President dick cheney, president and mrs. Clinton. I finished my remarks, walked about, sat beside meredith and said to me, you did not mention nancy. I said, she is not here. She said, yes, she is, she is hidden behind the column. I had not seen her, so im eagerly called ever speech will friend stu spencer who answered by saying, what were you thinking, brokaw . Stu, do you think she noticed . [laughter] are you kidding . Here is her mobile number. Call her right now, which i did. I took my medicine from an aggrieved friend for the next 15 minutes, until she accepted my explanation, and then it was back to square one again, and the way i got out of it was, she had been given a terrible seat, i agreed. What i so admired about nancy was that ability to do just that. She knew how to protect her husband and her president , but also her own place, to stand her ground, and once it had been resolved and move on. That was never more evident on the many occasions when i spoke here at the library. We meet in a holding room downstairs to catch up on the latest gossip, what was going on in our personal lives, and then after everyone had been seated, after she was confined to a wheelchair especially, i would help get her to her feet, then we would take her to an entryway that had been curtained off, and beyond the entry way could hear the music began to swell, and off stage announcer in toning, ladies and gentlemen, the former first lady of the United States nancy reagan, and her guest tom brokaw. I would escort her into the auditorium and into the front row and seizure the side tom selleck, her friend, and then give my lecture. The last time we were there together, i received an enthusiastic response from the audience. But i wanted to be sure nancy approved, so i leaned over to her seat as the applause continued and said, i hope that was ok. She whispered back to me, tom, give me a little kiss, they are going to love that. [laughter] and so, i did, and so they did. Our shared editor of random house reminded me that when we lost nancy last weekend, it would have been the 68th anniversary of their marriage, ronnie and nancy. So god bless nancy, mrs. Ronald reagan, first lady, and the unlikely friend of a reporter. Thank you, nancy. In the month before my father died, my mother repeated often that she had to be there at his last moment. Her determination was ferocious. She simply had to be at his side when he left this world. I said the only thing i could think of, and what i thought my father would say, was that it was in gods hands. She was there, and occasionally i thought, even god might not have the guts to argue with nancy reagan. As her own health declined, she was quite adamant and vocal about reuniting with my father on the other side after her passing. I am hoping for gods peace of mind, that she got her wish. My parents were two halves of a circle, closed tight around a world in which their love for each other was the only substance they needed. While they might venture out and include others in their orbit, no one truly crossed the boundary into the space they held as theres. I saw this exquisitely portrayed in front of me one summer evening when i was a teenager. We used to rent a beach house for a few weeks in the summer. On this evening with a vivid sunsets streaked across the sky, i looked out and saw my parents sitting on the sand, close together, heads tilted in conversation. There was so much of vastness around them, the blue pacific, the orange and pink sky, miles of white sand, and then there was the circle of their own private world, as clear as if it had been traced around them, indestructible, impenetrable, and island for two. I knew i would carry that image for the rest of my life. When my father was shot and my mother rushed to the hospital, they at first would not let her see him. I have to, she said. You dont understand how it is with us. The moment before my father died, he opened his eyes, which had been closed for days, and he looked straight at my mother. The circle was drawn again as he left this world. In the weeks after he died, my mother thought she heard his first thats coming down the hall late at night. She said he would appear to her long after midnight, sitting on the edge of the bed. I dont know anything about the possible passages between this world and the next, but i do know her faith in these visits eased some of her loneliness. They made her feel that he was close by. On one occasion, i am quite certain that she was channeling my father. I had gone up to her house and found her very busy making phone calls to elected officials, trying to gain their support for stem cell legislation, something she was quite passionate about. She ended one phone call and gave me a somber look. Well, she said, in a calm tone, sounding much more like my father than herself, karl rove is dogging my phone calls. Everyone i call, he calls right after and try to get them to oppose stem cell legislation. Right after, i asked, are you sure your phone is not bound bugged . No, i had a secret Service Check on that. [laughter] you must be furious, i told her, puzzled by the fact that she did not seem furious at all. She shook her head, no, and her entire demeanor was not only calm but practically zen. Even people who never knew my mother will know that the word is and has never been applied to nancy reagan. But that is what i saw. There is no time to get upset, she said, there is work to be done, i cannot get distracted. I have to keep moving forward. I admit, i did say, who are you, and what have you done with my mother . [laughter] overtime, which he referred to as latenight visit from my father deceased, she no longer hurt his footsteps in the hall, but she never stopped missing him. She tells me wants the reason she had a television on all the time was because it filled the house with sound and made her feel less lonely. Another remedy for her loneliness was to fill the empty spaces with stories and memories. A few days before she died, i reminded her of something that happened many decades ago when we lived in pacific palisades. My father used to get assange is from a large Eastern European men who would come to the house and set up his massage table in my parents dressing room. On one of these days, as my father lay face down on a table, my mother tiptoed in, kissed him lightly on the back of his neck, and tiptoed out. [laughter] he did not know it was her. [laughter] but he went through the rest of the massage. [laughter] never said a word, and after the missouri left, he said to my mother, i dont think we can have him back anymore. [laughter] why, she asked, what happened . Well, he kissed me. When she told him it was her recovery he was flooded with relief, and said, thank god, i did not know what to do. My mothers laughter in remembering that day was unbeknownst to me, would turn out to be the last time i would hear her laugh. It is no secret that my mother and i had a challenging and often contentious relationship. When i was a child, i imagined having warm, comfortable conversations with her, the kind of conversations that feel like lamplight. The reality was far different. I tried her patients, and she intimidated me. We were never mild with one another, whether we were distant and angry, or bonded and close. Our emotions burned up the color chart. But there were moments in our history when all that was going on between us was love. I choose to remember those moments. I choose to remember the mother who held together the back of her young daughters head after she fell at a friends house and cracked her skull open on the fireplace hearth. She drove with one hand and held my head with the other, talking soothingly to me and trying to conceal the fear in her eyes. Watching her was hypnotic. It made my head hurt less. I choose to remember my mother, framed by the window of a New York Hotel room as i told her that i have been involved in a complicated relationship for two years and has now been cruelly tossed aside. I was 19. I felt older and more wounded than any 19yearold should feel. I needed a mother, and i came to mine, holding out a fragile hope that she would keep me from crumbling beyond all recognition. She did. She did not judge me, she was not punishing or accusatory. She was tender and understanding and loving. I choose to remember walking with her along the beach. Somehow, the ocean always calms the air between us and allows us to be easy with each other. Most of all, i will remember looking out the window to the sweep of sunset and seeing my parents sitting together on the sand, maybe on the other side there are other shores and internally brilliant sunsets. Maybe its possible to sit there forever, undisturbed, two souls happily entwined in eating only each other. Robert sexton wrote, across the years, i will walk with you. Indeed green forests, on short sands, and when our time on earth is through, in heaven, too, you will have my hand. I hope for my parents those parents dont live only in the poets imagination, but are a map to what they both long for and believed in in the world beyond this one. I love that story about the masseur. Laying on the table, laying there, just waiting for this man to do something else. What must have been going through his mind . [laughter] i guess im batting cleanup here, so on behalf of my family, thank you all for coming here. We really appreciate it. My sister patty and i who suddenly find ourselves orphaned, really appreciate being surrounded by so much love and kindness. To jim, tom, everybody else who spoke, their kind words, appreciate that very much. And to the folks at the library here who put this whole thing on. What a terrific job they have done. We so much appreciate that, too. She did love a party, and she would want this to be a party. This is not a tragedy, this is a celebration. I hope you had a chance to have a look around here. Some of you, of course, have been here many times before. I hope you realize, none of this would have been possible without nancy reagan. I do not mean that she was active in fund raising, building the library of course, she was. What i mean to say is there would be no Ronald Reagan president ial Library Without a president Ronald Reagan, and there likely would not have been a president Ronald Reagan, without a nancy reagan. Of course, it may not have happened that way, if she was not made of such stern stuff, she may not have made it all the way to being mrs. Ronald reagan. My dad played hard to get a little bit when they were dating, way back when. He had already purchased a ranch not too far from here in malibu, and he loved to go there and ride his horses and buck hey, generally get dirty and sweaty outdoors. Not the kind of thing that she is really crazy about, my mother. But she was a good sport, and she wanted to participate in this. If he loved his ranch, well, she was going to love the ranch, too. They would go out there, and she would wonder how she could help. This ranch in malibu, about 700 acres, had a long driveway that led to the house, about a half mile, fences on both sides. So they would go out there and hang out, the ranchers, but she wanted to help, as i said, so she asked him, what can i do to help . Did i mention that the fences lining that half mile driveway were unpainted . So he handed her a bucket of paint and a brush, and my mother painted a miles worth of fence. Every post, every plank, both sides. Once. [laughter] in that paint job lasted for the duration. Now, my father was confident, but he was not an arrogant man at all. It takes a great deal of the to run for president of the United States or even governor of california, for that matter. And her absolute believe in him gave him that chutzpah to run for office. My mother provide encouragement. She guided him, provided a refuge into which he could repair to gather his strength, she guarded his privacy, she protected him. Both possessed great individual talents, but as a couple, they were more than the sum of their parts, and it would be a mistake, by the way, to consider her somehow subordinate to him, just because he was the one usually taking center stage. They were coequals. They complement and one another. Individually, they may have gone far, but together, they could, and did go anywhere. My father was inclined to believe that everyone was basically good, and that certainly, anyone who worked for him was pure of heart and could never be nursing a private agenda. My mother did not share that inclination. [laughter] and she did not have that luxury. In my mothers world, you are either helpful to her husband, or you were not. I think we all know which side of the equation you would want to be on. Since we are among friends, i think we can admit, she was not always the easiest person to deal with. She could be difficult, demanding, she could be a bit obsessive, truly, a royal pain in the ask, when she wanted to be. But usually only so that my father did not have to be. You did not want to get on moms bad side. Particularly by hurting her husband. If you did that, you had earned yourself and implacable foe. If you happen to run into the ghost of don regan sometime, just ask him. On the other hand, yucatan as for a more loyal or dedicated friend. Just ask joan rivers, should you run into her in the hereafter. When jones husband died, she was on the east coast, and joan could not get the corner to release the body, so he could come home to the west coast. Joan is a comedian, she did not know who to call. Who do you call to pull strings like this . She was acquainted with my mother, but they were not great friends yet. Nevertheless, she bucked up her courage and called the white house and got my mother on the phone. Joans husbands body was on the next plane out of town to the west coast, and joan became my mothers body for the rest of her life buddy for the rest of her life. I see the faces of many friends here today, people that have known and loved my mother for years. But most of my mothers bodies are gone now. She is among the last of her cohort, the old gang, her generation, and now she is truly with them. If my mother had one, great talent, it was that she knew how to love, and she loved one man more than the world. In her later years after my father had gone, she used to ask me, whether i thought she would be with him again when she died. Im not a believer in the supernatural, but i always assured her, wherever that had gone, she was surely going to go there, too. We should all be so lucky to stand up where we have always wanted to be, and today my mother comes to rest on this lovely hilltop with its farreaching views, next to her beloved Ronald Reagan library, and by the way, from here, she will be able to keep an eye on things. Just saying. No slacking. How long will it be before tales begin to emerge with a petite chanel spirit roaming the galleries and the halls . Just checking to make sure that things are running smoothly. But most importantly, she will once again lay down beside the man who was the love of her life, the one that she loved until the end of her days. They watched the sun dropped over the hills over the west toward the sea as night falls, they would look across the valley. My father would tell her the lights below are the jewels for her. The moon and the stars will turn overhead, and here they will stay, as they always wished it to be, resting in each others arms, only each others arms, until the end of time. Amazing grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch, like me i once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now i see. twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved, how precious did that grace appear the hour i first believed the lord hath promised good to me, his word my hope secures, he will my shield and portion be as long as life endures. When weve been there ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun, weve no less days to sing gods praise than when we first begun. God of grace and glory, we before you this way our sister nancy, we thank you for giving her to us, her family and friends, give us faith to see in to gate of eternal life so that in quiet confidence we may continue our force on earth, until youre called and we are reunited windows that have gone before, amen. Please be seated. Today, we are exactly where we ought to be, standing with this family, and one another before the mystery of life and death, say in our prayers and farewell to nancy davis reagan. The great 20th century rabbi was once asked, what is the most important thing that a religious person can do . His answer was given in one word. Remember. That is precisely what we do this day, this is what we do as religious people every time we gather. We hear again and again the stories of encountering god, ancient and cherished, stories that point to god as ineffable mystery, yet still revealed to our fragile and mortal humanity. We were ever gods saving love, for the human race and family, and in that act of remembering, the god of life and giver of every good gift is present to us. In these moments that i speak to you, it is really for one purpose, to gather all the remembrances that you have just heard, those that you carry in your hearts, those of the people of our nation and the world, and to remind you where to place them all, before the living god, who gave nancy life from the first, and who now receives it back again. Who is this god . This is the one who raised of israel out of bondage in egypt, fulfilling ancient promises, and who raised of jesus from the dead and who resurrected life. The gone in whose presence we gather today and to whom we commend the life and soul of nancy is a god of justice. Who wants to lift up the poor, the vulnerable, and all on the margins of life. A god of love who wants you to know that in every circumstance of life, that you are beloved, precious, sacred, just because you are you. This is a god who loves fiercely, who traffics in light and death, and is encountered in every dimension in life, beautiful and complex. Nancy knew of this. She knew it because she lived it. In november 2014, i was invited to meet mrs. Reagan at her home. There were four of us, mrs. Reagan and two of her dear friends. We entered her bedroom where mrs. Reagan dressed comfortably, and with a quiet elegance, was partly reclined on her bed. We were there over one hour. I mostly listened, as the three of them told stories from the white house years and beyond, some dramatic, some hilarious, and others that caused us to fall into a companionable silence. Turn to the photographs on the bedside table, i asked about several of them, and one by one, she looked at them and spoke about places and events over long years. Finally, i picked up the one closest to her. It was worn and creased, slightly weathered. What about this one, mrs. Reagan . She held it in silence, and turning to me, she said, this one is my favorite. The photo was of president reagan, who had begun his dissent into alzheimers. He, too was mostly reclined. The angle of the photo was their