Senator Mark Odom Hatfield

In 1993, we moved into a little gated community on the Oregon coast. All of the homes were cedar shingle siding, with white trim. They all overlooked the water; there were tennis courts and bocce ball and wood steps down to the beach. Very quaint.

Shortly after moving in, I distinctly remember meeting our neighbors, Mark and Antoinette Hatfield. In the beginning, they stood out because they had a painting on the wall between their dining room and their kitchen. The whole house was classically done; very regal and bourgeois. I remember this painting in particular because, amongst all of the fine china and worldly artifacts, there was this painting. Of a yellow fire hydrant.

I remember being so confused. Why would they have a painting of a fire hydrant? As it turns out, I think that was my first introduction to modern/contemporary art. Years later and what I wouldn't give to have that painting.

In September of 1996, I had the pleasure of going to Washington DC with Mr. Hatfield, or as you may refer to him, Senator Hatfield. I toured rooms you'll never set foot in and sat in office chairs you'll never know the comfort of. I wore an awful Laura Ashley-type floor-length dress (I may have even worn a cropped denim jacket) as he introduced me to friends and colleagues; I nerded out over meeting John Glenn during lunch in the White House.

In 1999, I began my college search. Since I had a hard time deciding where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do, I ended up applying in all different corners of the country (Alaska, California, Florida, Montana, New York and Washington State). Senator Hatfield was kind enough to write me recommendations to every single one of them. (I chose the University of Washington, for the record.)

In 2001, I was set to graduate from high school. I thought it would be wonderful, given his accomplishments, if the Senator could speak at our graduation ceremony. I remember my pounding heart as I asked him for the favor, he smiled and assured me that it would be an honor, but with one caveat: he wanted me to introduce him. So I stood in front of more than a thousand people, first the first time, and introduced my friend, my mentor, my neighbor. I was shaking so hard I thought my knees would give out. As I walked off the stage, I passed him and he gave me a tight hug and told me that I did wonderfully.

That same day, his wife, Antoinette, gave me a graduation card with a 100-dollar bill inside. After all of the congratulations, it specified in the card that the money was only for emergencies; that I should carry it with me always. Now, ten years later, that bill is still in my wallet waiting for an emergency -- at this point it would have to be catastrophic for me to part with it.

This morning my mom called to tell me that the Senator passed away last night. My eyes are glassy with tears and my heart feels pregnant, like it's expanding and adjusting to make room for this new sadness. He was such a lovely person; the kindest, the most giving, the man with such a wide berth of knowledge, always willing to share. I feel very, very blessed to have known him.