Living History, Unknown [books to read in your 20s female TXT] 📗

Although she underwent highly toxic chemotherapy treatments that left her weak and caused her hair to fall out, Diane was a valiant fighter who never lost her smile or her loving spirit. Even in her last months, she and Bill competed to see who could do the New York Times Sunday Magazine crossword puzzle faster.

When Jim called in June to tell me the end was near, I left the campaign behind and flew to see Diane for the last time. By then, hospice nurses―living saints in my view―were tending her around the clock. Surrounded by her family and a legion of devoted friends, she slipped in and out of sleep as I stood next to her bed, holding her hand and leaning close to hear whatever she labored to say. As I got ready to leave, I bent down to kiss her goodbye. She pressed my hand tightly and whispered to me, “Don’t ever give up on yourself and what you believe in. Take care of Bill and Chelsea. They need you. And win this election for me. I wish I could be there when you do. I love you.”

Then Bill and Chelsea joined me at her bedside. She looked intently at us. “Remember,”

she said.

“Remember what?” Bill asked.

“Just remember.”

Five days later she died.

Bill, Chelsea and I later flew to Fayetteville for a memorial service to celebrate Diane’s extraordinary life. Just as Diane would have wanted it, the service was upbeat, lively and filled with music and stories of her personal and public passion to better her world. Presiding at the celebration, I said that Diane squeezed more out of her too-brief life than any of us could have done in three or four hundred years. I don’t know anyone who tried harder or had more success at living. Bill summed up Diane in a moving eulogy, saying: “She was beautiful and good. She was serious and funny. She was completely ambitious to do good and be good, but fundamentally selfless.” She certainly made my life happier. I never had a better friend, and I miss her every day.

On July 11, Bill began a two-week meeting at Camp David with Prime Minister Ehud Barak and Yasir Arafat in an effort to resolve outstanding issues in the ongoing peace negotiations between Israel and the Palestinians under the Oslo Accords. Barak, a former general and Israel’s most decorated soldier, was anxious for a final agreement that would fulfill the vision of Yitzhak Rabin, under whom he had served. Barak and his vivacious wife, Nava, quickly became friends whose company I enjoyed and whose commitment to peace I admired. Unfortunately, while Barak came to Camp David to make peace, Arafat did not. Although he told Bill repeatedly that peace had to be achieved while Bill was in office, Arafat was never ready to make the hard choices necessary to reach an agreement.

While campaigning, I kept in close touch with Bill, who expressed his growing frustration.

One night Barak even called me asking for any ideas I might have to convince Arafat to negotiate in good faith. At Bill’s request, Chelsea had accompanied him to Camp David and joined the group for informal lunches, dinners and casual conversations.

Bill had also asked my assistant, Huma Abedin, to help with hosting the delegations. An American Muslim who grew up in Saudi Arabia and speaks Arabic, Huma displayed the skill and grace of a seasoned diplomat as she interacted with the Palestinian and Israeli representatives during breaks in the meetings and over games of darts and pool.

Finally, at noon on July 25, Bill announced the close of the unsuccessful Camp David summit, acknowledging the deep disappointment he felt and urging both sides to continue working to find “a just, lasting and comprehensive peace.” Their efforts continued during Bill’s remaining six months in the White House and nearly succeeded in talks in Washington and the Middle East in December 2000 and January 2001, when Bill put forward his last, best offer of a compromise peace proposal. In the end, Barak accepted Bill’s offer, but Arafat refused. The tragic events of the last few years show what a terrible mistake Arafat made.

By August 2000, it was time for the Democratic National Convention in Los Angeles.

Bill and I were scheduled to address the delegates on the first night, August 14, and then leave the city, making room for Vice President Gore and his vice presidential pick, Senator Joe Lieberman, to accept the nomination and take center stage.

I was greeted on stage by Democratic women Senators Barbara Mikulski, Dianne Feinstein, Barbara Boxer, Patty Murray, Blanche Lincoln and Mary Landrieu, who herself had been through a wrenching Senate race in 1996. With all the attention focused on what I was going to do next, I wanted to make sure that, when I took the podium, the American people knew how much I appreciated the privilege of serving for eight years as their First Lady. “Bill and I are closing one chapter of our lives-and soon, we’ll be starting a new one … Thank you for giving me the most extraordinary opportunity to work here at home and around the world on the issues that matter most to children, women and families…. [and] for your support and faith in good times―and in bad. Thank you … for the honor and blessing of a lifetime.”

Bill’s speech followed mine, and his mere presence evoked a rush of nostalgia throughout the Staples Center, with people chanting “four more years” and enveloping him in a thunderous and warm reception. He gave a powerful accounting of his Presidency and a rousing endorsement of AI Gore. Then our role in the convention was over, and we were gone.

Within days, I began to prepare for three upcoming debates against Lazio. A young, telegenic Republican from Long Island, Lazio enjoyed strong support in the suburbs.

Unlike Giuliani, he was not divisive or hard-edged, nor was he well-known outside his district. With support and encouragement