For the next four years, my wife, Mahoney, would courageously fight against a virulent and deadly disease, and I would desperately fight to keep it all together. It was the agreement we had. Her mom and I would split caregiver duties: midnight calls to the emergency room, of which there were far too many, and long stays at the hospital would be mine, while the more routine Tuesday drives to the hospital for her chemotherapy sessions would be the province of my mother-in-law. My new roommate and I had a plan so long as the patient and the disease cooperated. They didn’t. So, we adapted as best we could, as best as any family would.

As many speeches as I had given up to this point in my life, this was the moment that I sought to at last master this most nerve-wracking of all the art forms. There is no escaping the fact that when you are alone on stage, your whole self is exposed. For this and many other reasons, standing and delivering a speech challenges us to our core, as our personality and full being will invariably reveal themselves to the audience. The more self-aware we are of this phenomenon, the better our chances at connecting emotionally as well as rationally with the audience. The less aware we are, and the more we try to conceal ourselves or protect ourselves, the more personally painful the experience will be for us and the less effective our speech will be for the audience.

At the time of Mahoney’s illness, reading Churchill’s words again for the first time in years surfaced a similar resolve in me—a drive to fight in the metaphorical fields and streets, and to never surrender to the ravages of her cancer. The power of rhetoric worked its magic during those lonely evenings, with a scotch in my hand and a book on my lap. Like a child, I dreamed of a power to conjure divine strength through words, a strength that would help me meet the challenges of my own moment, personal rather than civilizational. I would chew on Churchill’s words, exaggerating them with my tongue, fixated by their ability to evoke such powerful emotions… In my tiny world, my family required that same courage of me. But would I find the words when the time came?

When you step on the stage to deliver a speech, you are like the batter, the golfer, or even the comedian. You have to own your occasion and meet your moment. No one can save you from this burden. Pressure may be a privilege, as Billie Jean King once said, but it weighs heavily. No one, no matter how naturally talented they are, can meet the moment without preparation and an understanding of all that goes into their craft. Very few people can just stand and speak extemporaneously for more than a minute or two. Without preparation, the longer they speak, the more apparent their lack of preparation becomes. Even pros like Bill Clinton, Jamie Dimon, and Steve Jobs prepare like the best athletes in the world, and their success is a function of it.

To my daughters Emerson and Finley:

“My precious darlings, I hope and pray that one day, you too will come to believe in the wisdom that though your mother’s death denies her a future in your day-to-day lives, she is always to be in your past and forever in your present.”

—Mahoney’s Eulogy, November 16, 2019