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Sen. Edward M. Kennedy's funeral was as close as it gets to a state funeral without being one. The great cathedral, the statesmen, the honor guard. All of the trappings were on display.

Yet hovering in the shadows of the funeral Mass was the darker side of the man they'd come to honor. In his younger years, he'd lived a messy life of personal failures. Millions loved him in spite of them; others loathed him because of them.

Within hours after his death, bloggers unleashed anti-Kennedy diatribes. Other commentators did so with less venom. "He was given everything he had in life," said Grover Norquist, the Washington-based conservative activist. "He didn't earn anything."

William Bennett, the conservative commentator, wrote on the National Review Web site: "They say one should not speak ill of the dead. True, but I am of the view that one should not lie about the dead either. So I will not go on."

Many profoundly disliked Kennedy for his political liberalism. The late Sen. Jesse Helms made him the centerpiece of stump speeches by often labeling his challengers as "Kennedy liberals." Being linked with Teddy Kennedy in conservative Dixie was the kiss of death.

Yet Kennedy's closest friends in Congress were often conservative Republicans -- Sen. Orrin Hatch, Sen. John McCain, former Sen. Bob Dole.

They simply agreed to disagree but to share common legislative ground when possible. They liked Kennedy, the person, and admired his brilliant legislative skills. They believed in partisanship but practiced it with civility.

"He was of an era when the difference of politics was not a barrier to friendship," President Obama said at Kennedy's funeral.

Kennedy's eagerness to reach across the political aisle extended to journalists of the opposite stripe. Syndicated columnist Cal Thomas, a staunch conservative, wrote a touching tribute to Kennedy that ran on this page. He ended it by saying there "is no excuse for hating people because of their political beliefs."

Kennedy's most vehement critics, however, clung to his personal failures. Chappaquiddick ranked above all others. That was the terrible night in 1969 when Kennedy drove a car off a bridge on a deserted beach road on Chappaquiddick Island. He swam to safety but Mary Jo Kopechne, 28, his companion, was left behind and drowned. He did not report the accident for nearly nine hours.

Even Kennedy supporters were horrified, and some never forgave him. His enemies clucked and used the accident to make political hay. Acid-tongued Jesse Helms referred to him as that "Chappaquiddick car boy." Kennedy pleaded guilty to leaving the scene of an accident and was given a two-month suspended sentence.

But in the years that followed, especially after his divorce from Joan Bennett, his carousing continued. Then came 1991 and the rape date trial of his nephew Stephen Smith. Uncle Teddy had taken his nephew to a bar in Palm Beach, Fla., the night of the alleged rape.

Once again, Kennedy was guilty of tawdry behavior. Even his friends wondered if Teddy would ever grow up.

But the rape trial was a turning point. The following year Kennedy remarried, and he later said his wife, Vicki Reggie, "saved my life" by being a steadying influence. They were married for 17 years.

Kennedy's professional achievements were monumental. Some, including John McCain, called him the greatest senator of his age. For nearly a half-century, his fingerprints were on every major piece of legislation: civil rights, health care, education, etc.

Yet his personal failures were never forgotten by him or others. Nor did they go unmentioned at his funeral. In an eloquent eulogy, his son Ted said: "He was not perfect. Far from it. But he believed in redemption."

Unlike his brothers, whose lives were short, Kennedy was given the gift of time. He used his last two decades to turn his life around and seek redemption.

A few months before his death, he sent a letter to Pope Benedict XVI: "I know that I have been an imperfect human being but with the help of my faith I have tried to right my path." They were the words of a dying man who believed we flawed humans can redeem ourselves.

Rosemary Roberts writes a column on alternate Fridays. Email: rmroberts@triad.rr.com