Norm Coleman’s Lessons from Loss

2/5/17

When Donald Trump was sworn in last month Norm Coleman witnessed  the peaceful transfer of power, though the New York native had supported several other candidates. I was curious about his view of the Trump presidency and the visceral reactions to it.

Coleman has been a Democrat, a Republican, the mayor of St. Paul, a United States senator, and now, a D.C. lawyer and lobbyist.

Had he gotten his way he would have been governor of Minnesota and at least a two-term senator. But he lost the governor’s race to a professional wrestler whose victory was as unlikely as Donald Trump’s.

And, after a protracted legal battle, he lost his Senate seat to a professional comedian – by 312 votes. The losses stung, to be sure. But with time comes healing and with experience comes perspective.

Coleman has dealt with much worse than losing an election.

Early in their 35-year marriage he and his wife, Laurie, lost two children in a 10-year span.

Their first child, Adam, was born in 1983 with Zellweger syndrome, a relatively rare condition that results in failure to thrive. Coleman recalls the “Houston we have a problem moment” when he learned his son would not live long.

“You’re waiting for that magical moment, but then you see the looks of the doctor and the nurse. You’re told your baby has serious problems and is not going to live. They take the baby away from you and suddenly the world collapses around you.”

The odds were one in four that another child would be born with the same syndrome. But Coleman looked at the odds as three in four that it would not happen. It was in God’s hands, he says. Faith prevailed, as they were blessed with a son, Jacob, and a daughter, Sarah, adults now.

Then the odds worked against them. Grace was born in 1992 with the same syndrome that had claimed Adam. They shared just a few months with her.

The deaths of two children shaped Coleman’s perspective on dealing with loss and disappointment. “I know what the end of the world is and nothing else is in that category,” he told me recently.

Adam and Grace’s deaths left him with a sense that there were things he had to do. And surviving those tragedies prepared him for other losses.

In 2015 he learned a sore throat was actually Stage 4 throat cancer. He participated in a clinical trial at Mayo Clinic, undergoing surgery, chemo, and radiation. Last year he was pronounced cancer-free.

Like many who grapple with it, Coleman says cancer has made him better. It’s also compelled him to be a spokesman of sorts. If something seems amiss with your health, have it checked out, he says. The sooner you receive treatment the better the outcome.

The center-right Republican wasn’t a fan of our last president and he’s no fan of our new one. But he feels an obligation to help him to succeed, for ultimately, Trump’s success is our success, he says. “As citizens we should take that approach until proven otherwise.”

As to the angst about Trump’s presidency, he says, “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but life is tough. Things aren’t always supposed to be easy or feel good. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be concerned or even fearful. The last thing you do is assume the fetal position. Deal with it. Try to figure out what else you can do despite the fact that the reality is there. You can do a thousand things. You can look harder for your next candidate.”

He doesn’t suggest that it is easy for the candidate or his team to lose an election, to believe you are on the right path but miss the opportunity to make policy and more. It’s not fun. It’s hard.

“People win and lose and the republic marches on. I won a mayor’s race. A lot of people waited eight years until I was gone. There were probably people who were thrilled that I was gone.”

But his experience has been that when a door shuts a window opens. The question becomes, “What’s the next plan?”

Though it seemed terrible at the time, his political losses worked out for the best. “I didn’t win the governor’s race that I should have won. But if I had won I wouldn’t have become a United States senator.”

And if he’d been re-elected to the Senate he wouldn’t have been able to spend so many weekends at the lake. Time at the lake takes years off of your shoulders, says the 67-year-old. Despite all the ups and downs, or maybe because of them, his life could not be better.

What lessons have you learned through loss?