07/31/2013

   One piece of information from our meeting with the minister that I forgot to mention in yesterday's entry was that the band director at the high school had, at one time, been the choir director at the Methodist church. This meant he was very familiar with the church sanctuary and knew exactly how he would have the band set-up for their part of the service. It seemed to be another sign that everything was coming together properly for Curtis's service. If this was to truly be the last thing we could ever do for our son (no graduations, no wedding, no more birthday parties) then we wanted everything to be done with class and grace and in a manner befitting our son's life and memory.
   The first of the three funerals was to be held on this day at a nearby church that we had never before been to, and have not been back to since. I don't remember many details about the service for Curtis's friend except that the church was full of mourners, there were lots of flowers, lots of music, a message from a minister, lots of tears and some laughter as well. We went to the service to be supportive of another family who was experiencing the same loss as were we, but I did not find comfort. I was just too focused on my own pain and anxiety. Mostly, I could only think about our own loss and what it was going to mean for my family. We had lost our son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin, friend, classmate, teammate, neighbor. How were we supposed to survive that? So far, the shock of this loss, and the sheer amount of things we had been busy taking care of had insulated me from the reality of our  situation. Now that the services had begun, it was becoming impossible to deny the truth any longer.
After this first funeral was over, again someone from the family came up behind where we were sitting, put his arms around me and said, "Wasn't that a wonderfully uplifting service?" All I could do was mumble an affirmation of some kind. I understand that funerals can be inspiring and celebratory depending on your beliefs about what happens in the afterlife, but I was not yet ready to celebrate my son being ripped away from me without my permission. As far as I was concerned, God had given me the blessed responsibility of raising Curtis as my son. I was angry that I was not being allowed to finish that job, and the truth of that situation was about to become appallingly apparent for all to see. The viewing service for Curtis was to be that evening at the mortuary chapel. At last, I would be able to see my son for the first time in almost a week. I had never gone this long without seeing Curtis since the second he was born. Would I even be able to handle seeing him lying like that in a casket? I would soon find out.

07/30/2013

   Our meeting with the minister of the United Methodist Church went even better than I had hoped . He was very kind and sensitive to our situation. Even though the service was to be in just two days, he took the time to get to know us, counsel us, and find out what kind of person Curtis had been before we got down to discussing the actual service. I thought this was pretty amazing considering that only once had we ever been to a service at his church, and we obviously were not members of his congregation. He was even accepting of the idea to share the officiating duties at the funeral with the minister of our home church. Everything seemed to fall into place including allowing the high school band to perform the music from their fall field show of which Curtis had been a part. It was called "A Day at Disneyland," which was a  perfect way, we felt, to honor our son, since he had actually performed this music with the band and Disneyland was one of his favorite places on earth. I left our meeting with the minister feeling much better about things. It seemed as though everything was now taken care of: the viewing, the funeral, the burial, all the music, the pallbearers, the eulogists, etc. We hoped there wasn't anyone we had neglected to notify. Still, with everything that had been going on, it all seemed so unreal to me. As things had turned out, we would not be able to actually see our son's body until the viewing service the following evening, I was extremely fearful that when that happened I would no longer be able to emotionally deny what was real, and it would all come crashing down on me at once. I did not want to fall apart in front of everyone. I very much felt that I needed to be strong for myself, for my wife, for my surviving children, for the rest of my family, for everyone. It's a guy thing. However, before I would have to face that challenge, we had another obstacle to stand up to the next day-the first of the three funerals for our lost children.

07/29/2013

   The visitation service for Curtis's friend (the other boy killed in the accident) was held at a local mortuary different from the one handling the arrangements for Curtis. As we entered the chapel, the first thing I noticed was the overwhelming scent of all the flower arrangements. The aroma took me back to those long-ago funeral services of my youth, when we lost so many family members within about a two year span, including my oldest brother. My wife was intercepted by some people she knew, so I went to find us some seats. I knew it was probably a completely unrealistic notion, but I really hoped that somehow I would not have to talk to anyone at the service. I just wanted to pay my respects to the family and get on to our appointment with the minister at the Methodist church. I was just about to be seated when a person from the boy's family came and greeted me with a big smile at her face. I remember thinking that her smile seemed to be very much out of place in the given situation. What she said to me, a grieving parent, seemed even less appropriate than her large grin.  "I just have so much joy and peace over this situation. I just know he's safe in the arms of the Lord!" I wanted to slug her. I had perceived myself to be a faithful child of the living God most of my life, but I was struggling to see anything joyous or peaceful in our current situation. Even if that was the way she honestly felt, I didn't feel it was appropriate of her to say that to me. (In the coming days and weeks, this person would prove on other occasions to be extremely insensitive and unthinking about what we were experiencing.)  I hoped there might someday come a time when I could look at our loss with something besides this incredible pain I was feeling, but if that were to happen I knew it was a long way down the road. I was ready to leave before we even sat down! I had to force myself to stay a respectful amount of time. After all, we were really there to pay our respects to one of our beloved son's dearest friends who had left this life at the same time as our son. It wasn't his fault that one of his relatives was talking like a fool. After a few minutes, we made our exit. That was the only time I felt a tiny bit grateful that we had promised the minister we would do our best to get to the appointment on time. We had yet more business to take care of.

07/28/2013

   Tuesday morning dawned-no miracle in sight. I had a long-scheduled appointment with my cardiologist for my six-month check-up. Emotionally I didn't feel like doing anything that would seem like part of a regular routine. To me, that was almost like admitting that my son was really gone, if I started doing things unrelated to his death. The only other time since his death I'd tried doing something normal was when I practically had a meltdown in the supermarket. My brother said he would go with me if I wanted some company. He would even drive if I needed him to. I figured I had better go see what kind of physical condition I was in, since I felt as if I was in danger of falling apart at any second. Besides, I told myself, at least it would use up some time before we had to go to the first visitation service tonight, then to our appointment at the United Methodist church to meet with their minister to discuss more details about Curtis's funeral service. Today was also the day that the coroner's office would be releasing our son's body to the mortuary. Finally! We wouldn't be able to see Curtis's body until the next day at his visitation service, but at least he would no longer be in that horrible coroner's office. It also meant that we needed to take the clothes in which he would be buried to the mortuary. We had decided, and received permission from the staff at the high school, to bury our son in the sweatsuit he wore as a part of the school basketball program. 

   I don't remember much about our drive to the doctor's. My brother was wise enough to realize that it wasn't necessary to say much of anything. What was there actually to be said? There were no words that could comfort me, and when people had tried over the last few days they usually only succeeded in making me angry with their useless, unwanted platitudes. I was enraged at first by how insensitive people could be and by the mindless words that came out of their mouths. On more than one occasion I had to get up and go outside to keep from exploding. How could they say such things: he's in a better place? God must have needed him in heaven? he's happy now in heaven? at least you don't have to worry about him anymore? his time on earth was done? God never gives us more to bear than we're able to handle? Really! Over time, I realized that such things were spoken out of ignorance and not malice. People simply don't know what to say in this situation, but feel they have to somehow try to justify to us (but mostly to themselves) how a tragedy of this magnitude could happen to people like us.

There's a fear that if something this horrible happened in our lives, it could happen in their lives, too.

That's a deeply unsettling realization for most people to even have to contemplate, let alone actually have to try to live through. Anyway, my brother seemed to grasp the fact that his presence with me at this time was what was most important and helpful to me. People would do well to remember this. I know we talked more about the details of the accident itself since my brother had not yet heard all that we knew. It actually seemed to bring me some small measure of comfort to share these things with him.

   At the doctor's office, my doctor was concerned about my elevated blood pressure and wanted to know if I thought their might be any particular reason for this. I told him what had happened.  He expressed his condolences. His first question was, "Why are you here?"  He then asked if I thought I might need a light medication to help  me through this time. I'm not one to take medications without a good reason, but I thought it might be a good idea to have something available if I found myself unable to function at some point. (There were still so many things we needed to do.) All of the doctor's office staff hugged me before I left and said to please let them know if they could help us in any way. That kind of support was always appreciated. When we got back to the house I found out that there were still plants and flower arrangements arriving, more food, more phone calls, more people stopping by, and a mailbox full of notes and cards. My wife and I found a few minutes to ourselves so we could discuss the last details of what we wanted for Curtis's funeral. We wanted to be able to speak plainly when we met with the minister that evening. We also needed to check-in with each other on how we were both coping with all that was swirling around us. I felt like I was in the center of a bombed-out building in some war zone with destruction all around us. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. Soon, we would have to begin searching through the rubble of our lives for what could be salvaged and what had to be left behind. That would take time and energy that we did not possess right now. Right now we had to steel ourselves to try to continue walking through this terrible week, starting with the first visitation service for Curtis's friend.

07/27/2013

   Plans had begun to take shape for the funeral services for the three children. The services for one of Curtis's friends would be first with the viewing on Tuesday evening and the funeral on Wednesday. Curtis's viewing would be Wednesday evening at the mortuary with the funeral service on Thursday at the United Methodist Church. The services for the daughter of the parents who had been driving would be on Friday at the same church where the Friday evening memorial service had been held. (This would give them more time to recover from their injuries.) That's right-services of one kind or another would be held on four consecutive days. We didn't really work together on that schedule, other than it was important to us that they be held individually for each child so that their common friends could attend all of the services if they wished. I wasn't sure I was going to be able to  make it through such a week. I knew I'd be there for Curtis, but it was important to me that I try to support the other families as well. We really weren't entirely sure what we wanted for Curtis's funeral. We knew we would need pallbearers. We wanted to choose some people who had been especially important in Curtis's life to deliver eulogies. We knew we would want music, both what was important to us and what he would have liked. Our oldest son was involved in the instrumental music program at the high school, and we had gotten involved with the booster program ourselves. Curtis also had joined the band program that year when the band director assured him that he would also be able to participate in sports. We had become close to many people in the band, both students and adults. Over the past few days, many of the band students had expressed a desire to honor Curtis through their talents. We thought it would be very appropriate for the drum line to play at the service since Curtis had been a part of that group. We contacted the president of the parent booster club to see if such a thing could be worked out. She was very positive that it would be no problem, but she actually had bigger things in mind. She asked us if we would be ok with us if the entire band performed at the service. She said that only using the drum line would leave out a lot of students who really wanted to honor Curtis as well. She'd already talked to the band director about it as well as the principal and people at the district office. Everyone was on board. She'd even talked to the students about it and only three students had indicated that they didn't think they could handle the situation emotionally and would prefer not to perform at the service. We were overwhelmed! We hadn't even known a thing like this was possible, let alone already in the works. However, she wasn't done yet. She also told us that if we needed a facility at which to hold a reception following the service the school had offered to open the cafeteria to us as a reception site.She also was willing to get parents from the booster club to help with acquiring and serving the food and drinks if we wanted. We were so grateful. We gladly accepted her many kindnesses. We knew we would never be able to repay her for all she was doing for us, but some years later we actually did have the opportunity to pay her back in kind. For now, we were so grateful that these things were now in her capable hands. We had no doubts that all would be done as she planned. When she set her mind to something, it got done! Other things fell into place as well. Everyone we contacted about serving as a pallbearer or to deliver a eulogy said they would be honored. We decided on the pieces of music for the service itself (besides what the band would perform) and for the viewing service. Most of the music for the funeral would be our choice. The music for the viewing time would be Curtis's favorites. We had taken care of so many more details, but it still seemed like all this was planning for a party, and when the party was over Curtis would be coming home. I think one thing that made it extra difficult to face reality was that we had not yet in all these busy, awful days actually seen our son's lifeless body. It was still too easy to fool myself into thinking that he wasn't really gone. God could still perform a miracle, couldn't He?

07/26/2013

   Monday was a national holiday-President's Day. It would have probably passed without notice since none of us had plans to go much of anywhere anyway, nor were we in much of a festive mood, obviously. It did mean, however, that since there was no school, two of my colleagues arrived at our door early in the morning bearing gifts. These two men were especially welcome, not so much for the items and messages they brought from people at my school, but because of what they themselves were able to do for us. One of them had worked for years as a police officer before going into teaching as a second career. We had already tried that morning to get information about the accident from our local police department. (I honestly don't remember exactly what we were trying to find out about, but it was important to us at the time.) We had been told that the police could not divulge that kind of information. I was feeling very frustrated. Most of the people we had had to deal with in the last few days had been extremely supportive, understanding, and helpful. Why did I feel like our local police department was always jerking us around?  Anyway, even though my friend had not worked for our local police department, he was able to get them to extend him some professional courtesy and get the information we requested. (It only took him about five minutes on the phone. Why couldn't they have just told us what we wanted to know?) My other teaching friend brought his own golden gift to us. He and his wife had lost their young son in a drowning accident several months prior to Curtis's death. He knew exactly what we going through and how we were feeling, although his son was much younger when he died than was Curtis. It helped us (as we were later often called upon to help others experiencing the death of a child) to see that it is possible, somehow, to survive a tragedy of this magnitude. My friend and his wife were still together, still breathing, still moving through life. This now meant that we directly knew five people who were bereaved parents who had found a way to go on with their lives: my mom, my friend and his wife, my wife's cousin and her husband. That gave us some hope that maybe we would manage to get through it somehow, as well. It meant so much to me that these two friends took so much time on their day off work to support and comfort us. It's never been forgotten. The rest of that day is hazy in my memory. I do remember that by this time most of our family from out of state had arrived. My brother and his wife and my sister and her partner. It was wonderful to have them with us, but at this point, I was realizing that nothing and no one could grant me the solace I most needed and wanted. I wanted and needed this nightmare to stop. I wanted and needed my son to come home.

07/25/2013

   My wife and I waited outside the church for the morning services to end so we could try to make contact with the minister. The only previous time we had been to this church was the most recent Christmas Eve service. We had been impressed with the openness of the people and the joyous atmosphere  of the service. It was a large church which we felt was important. We assumed Curtis's service would draw many people to pay their respects and say goodbye. Later, we would be proven right in this assumption. We were able to meet only briefly with the minister at this time, but he assured us that he and the church would certainly be available to us. He already knew of the accident and was very compassionate and sympathetic towards us. We set an appointment time to return on Tuesday evening to discuss what we wanted for Curtis's funeral and headed out to the cemetery. Again, the staff at the cemetery was so very kind and helpful. What we needed to do, while dealing with all three families at once, was find a spot in the cemetery where there were seven plots available, preferably side by side. We were told that we would need to exchange our three plots, then look for new spots because the parents who had been driving the car also wanted to be buried next to their daughter. This whole thing felt so bizarre. I mentioned before that both my wife and I had too much experience with this kind of situation, but except for when my older brother died in 1969 at the age of 22, we'd always been dealing with older people who had passed. We'd never really thought much at this stage of our lives about our own wishes for where we would end up when the time came, let alone try to coordinate things with other families at the same time. All of that was far off into the future, but here we were, faced with the unthinkable-again. The staff person helped us find what we required, and the new plots would only be a short distance away from our initial selections. We wrapped up the business at hand for what we hoped was the final time. I felt relieved that this part at least now appeared to be done once and for all. We headed back home. We had more relatives to pick up at the airport. We also found that we had received more flowers, plants, notes, calls, and food (we had enough fried chicken to open our own restaurant-we started sending people home with bags of chicken so it wouldn't go to waste.) Still, I did not find any of the food the least bit appealing. Again, I wondered to myself if anything would ever really be important to me again. The only thing that seemed to matter at the moment was this horrendous pain I was beginning to feel, and the emptiness deep in my soul. Keeping busy allowed me to not think about the horrible truth-was my son really gone?

07/24/2013

   Sunday morning. The first Sunday. Another day without my son. Another day of my new life. I wasn't sure how long I could keep this up. More family were scheduled to arrive today. It's funny how empty a full house can feel. I realized that I had only eaten a chicken leg and one roll since dinner on the night of the accident, but I did not feel hungry, nor did food seem the least bit appetizing. By this day people had begun bringing food to sustain us, but we were out of certain staples that we would need for our guests. It seemed pointless to me, since I had no plans to ever eat again, but I volunteered to go to the market. This was the first "normal" thing I had done in the last couple of days that was not directly connected to Curtis's death. As I picked up the few things we needed, I became more and more agitated. What were all these people doing here? Why was the store even open on a day like this? How dare they conduct business today! Didn't they realize what had just happened? Why was everyone treating this as a normal business day? By the time I got to the front of the checkout line, I was ready to explode. It was then that the checker, who often served us at this store over the years, asked the usual perfunctory question, "How are you today?" I stared at him blankly, not even able to formulate any kind of an answer. How am I? It was the first time since the accident that anyone had asked me that question.  I wanted to scream, "Why would you even ask me that? Isn't it written all over my face? How is it possible that my entire life has been ripped apart, yet everyone else be so totally oblivious to that fact? How can you not know? I'm struggling to figure out how or if I can survive this, but the rest of the world just goes merrily on?" Those were some of the things I wanted to say. Instead I just mumbled, "Fine," and got out of there as fast as I could. Of course, I realized on the way home that this was another thing I would have to get used to if I wanted to survive this whole situation. A few days later this store and its staff would support us in a way I could not have expected.
   Back at the house, we began to prepare, as best we could at this time, for the business of the day. The staff at the cemetery was willing to open the business office to accommodate our wish to have our three children buried together. However, that appointment would come later. First, my wife and I had to go to a local church to talk to the minister about the possibility of using their facilities and his services for Curtis's funeral. We had only been to this church one time before, but had really felt comfortable there.
Our home church was some 20 miles away. We wanted the services to be centered more locally so more of Curtis's friends would be able to attend. We were unsure at this point whether or not that would be possible. Eventually, things would come together in ways we could never have imagined.

07/23/2013

   When we heard that the parents were coming home, we went to our neighbor's house (this was the family who's son had also been killed in the accident), so we could all meet together for the first time. We now had such a horrible connection with each family. I had grown up with some of the people in this particular family when I was a kid before we all moved into the same area as adults. The parent who had actually been driving the car that night had also been a schoolmate of mine. It was odd how many different ways the families were connected, but it had mainly been all our children who solidified those connections. While we were waiting for the other parents to return from the hospital, we all got to talking about what arrangements had been made so far. One thing led to another, and before we knew it  our two families decided we wanted our sons to be buried together. It was at about this point in our discussions that the other two parents arrived from the hospital. I don't think they even went into their own house before coming to the neighbor's home. At first, it seemed like no one knew what to say. What was there to say? We knew they had done nothing wrong. The accident had been unavoidable due to the actions of the other driver. It was not their fault! In fact, that was everyone's basic message to them. They told us that they were fearful that everyone would hate and blame them. The wife said she had already thought that maybe they would have to move out of the neighborhood. We reassured them that none of us felt that way. We all hugged and held on to each other. Who else could understand what we were feeling? We all knew they were carrying a greater burden even than were the rest of us due to their physical injuries and the emotional load of guilt and trauma at having survived the accident that took our children from us. As we all tried to support each other, the discussion again turned to arrangements. Since they had just been released from the hospital, they had not yet considered much of anything. Now it was agreed upon that all three children should be buried together. I again felt a wave of comfort come over me. As silly as it sounds, it made me feel a little better to know that Curtis would not be alone in the cemetery. This decision did mean, however, that it would be necessary to return to the cemetery as a group to see if the staff there could make this happen for us. Something we thought we had finished was now another thing that needed to be taken care of. Again.

07/22/2013

   This very kind, compassionate woman sought us out because she wanted to make sure that we knew some things about the accident that she felt were important and would possibly bring us some small measure of comfort in the midst of the turmoil we were experiencing. She told (actually she told my wife, who passed the information on to me) that she indeed had witnessed the accident. Her account of what she had seen and done that night did bring us some relief, since she gave us details that no one else had yet given us. There were things we hadn't thought to ask the police that night, because we were in such shock, and they might not have told us anyway, since the investigation was still going on.
She saw the cars collide when a speeding car ran through the red light without trying to stop and struck broadside the car in which Curtis and his friends were riding. She thought it looked to her like the speeding car must have been going at least 70-80 miles per hour when the collision occurred. She ran to  our neighbor's car to see if anyone needed to help. She immediately saw that the parents in the front seat were obviously shaken and injured, but were alive. She then looked into the backseat where the kids were riding. She checked on the two boys (Curtis and his friend), but quickly saw that they were already gone. She then turned her attention to the girl and found a faint pulse. She called 911. She said the first responders were on the scene in a matter of minutes. The parents and their daughter were all transported to local hospitals for treatment, where Curtis's friend was later pronounced dead. The boys' bodies were awaiting pickup by the coroner's office. This was the first time we knew for sure that Curtis had never been transported to the hospital at all. That was just a charade by the police department that we had had to endure. The nurse also told us for the first time that Curtis's body was in a pristine state and was not deformed in any way. He looked like he had just fallen asleep. We had been concerned about this. Perhaps if we had known this sooner we would have pressed harder to see his body at the coroner's office, but we were fearful to see him in a mangled condition, so we had to wait several days after the accident to see our son. She told us that, in her experience dealing with victims of such violent collisions, Curtis had probably died instantly. The violent nature of such an impact causes such trauma to the body that he probably never realized what hit him, and so would have have felt no pain. She also stated that, although she couldn't know for sure, since she didn't remember hearing the sound of screeching tires she was confident that Curtis and his friends could not have seen what was about to happen, so they felt no fear just before the impact.
   Another man came to us during this time (I can't remember exactly when) and told us he also witnessed the accident. He, too, first  ran to our neighbor's car to see if anyone needed help. He also called 911. He then ran over to the car of the driver who had caused the accident and saw he was also injured, but did not seem to need immediate attention. He told the man to stay where he was and not try to go anywhere. He told us he was afraid the man would try to flee the scene. He could already hear sirens in the distance, so he knew help was on the way. He stayed by the man's car to make sure he stayed put until the police came. Both of these citizens gave their statements to the police. We were so appreciative to both of them (and others, as well) who tried to help our son that night. We were so grateful for this information, although, of course, it was very difficult to hear. At least we now knew that, apparently, our son had not felt fear nor experienced severe pain in the last moments of his life. He left this earth peacefully. That thought did bring us some comfort. This was all a lot of emotional information to deal with, but this day was not yet over. The parents who had been driving the car that night had been treated and were being released from the hospital to come home to the neighborhood.
We would have the chance to talk with them for the first time since the accident. (This was a day of firsts). I wondered what they'd be able to tell us. I wondered if they'd even want to talk to us.
We hoped they'd be up to talking with us.

07/21/2013

   The first Saturday of my new life would actually turn out to be enlightening and comforting in several ways beyond what I could have imagined when I awoke and realized anew that my son was still gone.
First of all, a friend stopped by to tell us that the memorial on the median was getting larger by the hour, so I decided to walk down to the intersection to see for myself. It was true. Even though it was still fairly early in the day, there were a lot more things that had been left than had been there the night before. This was when I found out that some of the kids' friends had been there all night, because they were able to tell me who had brought some of the objects in memory of Curtis. They'd witnessed some of the people coming and going. Secondly, as I was waiting at the traffic signal to cross the street, I felt someone hug me from behind. It happened to be an acquaintance of ours from our local baseball league with whom we had recently had some rather heated exchanges and hurt feelings due to his treatment of some of the players, including Curtis. He expressed his condolences and uttered a sort of apology for his part in what had happened during the baseball season. I didn't have any energy at the moment to continue this fight, so I accepted his sentiments and went back to waiting for the light to change. It was then that I noticed some familiar faces out on the median. They were teacher colleagues of mine who had come out to our area that day to take a test, the same test I had been studying for the night of the accident. In fact, I was supposed to have been taking the test with them that morning. Curtis had ben a student at our school up through Fifth Grade, so many of these people were not just my co-workers, but had been Curtis's teachers, as well. It was actually very good to see them and realize that Curtis had touched their lives in such a positive way. They surrounded me with their love and concern and even came back to the house to spend some time with us. They wanted to know how they and the rest of the staff  at my school  could support us.  I found their presence very comforting. While I had been down at the intersection, a visitor stopped by our house. She turned out to be a nurse who had been stopped at the intersection waiting for the signal light to change on the night of the accident. She witnessed the collision that killed Curtis and his friends. My wife finally found out a little more information about exactly what had happened to our son that night.

0720/2013

   As we were heading back home that night following the memorial service we had to again pass through the intersection where the accident occurred. This time there were lots of people gathered on the median holding candles, placing flowers, balloons, posters, stuffed animals, etc. These were people who had been friends and classmates of our son and his friends. They were already banding together to mourn and console each other. This became a touchstone location, especially for the young people, to share their feelings and connect with each other. At one point during this period, after we'd been told that some of them were even staying there all night, we felt compelled to go to the corner and express our deepest appreciation for all their love and support, but that we wished they wouldn't be there so long, especially after dark. That intersection was very busy with traffic, and some drivers, as we knew so well, weren't as careful as they should be when going through the intersection. We expressed to them that we didn't want any other family to go through what we were experiencing because they were there on the median. On this night, however, we just continued on home. It had been one of the longest, most gut-wrenching, worst days of my life. We now knew what mortuary would be in charge of the preparations and where our son was to be buried. We still didn't firmly have in place the where, when, who, or what factors for Curtis's funeral services. There was still much to be done, and we would soon have more family arriving. Normally, I always looked forward to weekends, but I knew that this weekend would be nowhere close to normal. What had been normal was now gone forever.

07/18/2013

   The memorial service for the three children killed in the accident, including our Curtis, was to be held that evening at the nearby church where one of the families involved worshiped. The kids had quite often all attended events there together, so we were somewhat familiar with it. This would be the first time since the accident that most of us whose lives had been so drastically and permanently changed would be gathering together. The only people who would not be there were the parents who had been driving the car the night before. They were still recovering in hospitals from there own injuries. I really wasn't sure I wanted to attend, but we decided to go. We could always leave if the emotions started to get the better of me. Several members of our support group went with us which made it easier. This was also the first time that the four of us: Casey, Carly, my wife and myself would be going anywhere together. That definitely felt odd. Curtis was the kind of person who never went anywhere quietly. He always made sure people knew he was present. His physical absence would forever be keenly felt by all who had known him. As we entered the sanctuary, I was first struck by the numbers of people who were already there in support of the families. It was amazing to me that these young lives had had such a positive, powerful impact on people. I remember being met by someone at the door and being escorted down to seats at the front. I also recall people pointing at us and looking at us with such sad expressions on their faces. Their were large photos of the three children displayed on the altar area. Again, I believe that being in shock is a good thing in a situation like that, otherwise I don't know how one would endure such a moment. I was still trying to convince myself that none of this was really happening, but that was difficult to do while staring at my son's picture on display for all to see. The fact that he was gone was, obviously, one of the reasons all these people were here. I don't remember much about the service itself except that there were remembrances of the lives of the kids, lots of music, and an attempt at a message of hope delivered by one of the ministers of the church. I remember feeling comforted by the support of all the people who had come to remember the children and by much of the music. I did not get much comfort from the message, as well-intentioned as it was. For the first time I was hearing some of the platitudes that would prove to anger me so frequently in the days to come. I was not joyous that my son had gone to be with God. I did not feel that he was in a better place. I was not happy that his work on Earth was done. I was not pleased that God must have needed him in heaven. I was not content that Curtis had "gone home". I did not feel that God doesn't give us more that we can handle. For one of the first times in my life I was angry with God. I felt betrayed. If He could have prevented the accident, why didn't He? Why had He taken my son away from me? We weren't done raising him. I didn't want to hear any of the rote reasons why this horrible incident had happened. As far as I was concerned, no reason would be good enough. This night was to begin my years long separation from my faith. I felt that night that I would never be able to trust God again.

07/17/2013

   When we got back home we were suddenly faced with several things that forced me to consider, albeit reluctantly, that all of this must be actually happening. If reporters from major newspapers and television stations want to interview you about what's happened to you, then I guess it must be real. Also, several plants and flower arrangements had been delivered, and my best friend's wife had a long list of phone messages for us (she had graciously offered to field our calls while her husband went with us to help us take care of business). I remember talking to a newspaper reporter on the phone, although I don't remember much of the conversation. The television interview does stand out in my mind, mostly because several people videotaped it for us, and I watched it again a few months ago on the anniversary of Curtis's death. Even after all these years, it's still jarring to me to view. I never expected to be on a major news program, especially not for such a terrible reason. I remember thinking at the time that these kinds of things only happen to other people, not to people like us. You see other people being interviewed on the news or read about them in the newspaper, and you feel sorry for them and wonder how they could possibly go on with their lives after such a tragedy. They always look so lost and dazed. Well, now those people were us. We looked lost and dazed as we tried to respond to the interviewer's questions as best we could. My wife and I have been through a lot in our years together, but I have never seen her look so hurt and stricken as she did during that interview, and I hope I never again see that look on her face and in her eyes. It was so painful to me to see her that way. I felt so helpless. Why had this happened to us? What had we done to deserve this? As Curtis's father, why had I not been able to protect him? Dealing with questions such as these would have to wait. I didn't have the energy to even ponder possible answers. There was still too much to deal with in the present time.
We were told that a memorial service for all three children was to be held that evening. I wan't sure that I had the strength to go; such a service would be another sign that all this horror was real.

07/16/2013

   Our next stop on this trip through our surreal new reality was at the cemetery. We were not going to have our son cremated, of that we were sure, so we needed to find a burial plot for him. Most of my deceased family members were buried in a cemetery some 30 miles away. We discussed this possibility, but as I told my wife, "Curtis didn't know any of those people. I don't want him buried with strangers. Besides, that's too far away". We had another, better option. My wife's parents and older brother were buried in a more locally located cemetery only about 10 miles away. I felt better knowing that Curtis would be with his grandma and his uncle whom he had known. I know that sounds crazy, but it certainly helped me to feel a little better at the time, and I was grasping for any bit of comfort I could find to help me deal with all of this. The only other factor to consider was that this particular cemetery was a Catholic cemetery, and we were not Catholics. However, we quickly decided that this was not a negative thing in our minds at all. As I said, it was more important to me that he be in a place with people he had known and loved in his life and who had loved him. I also liked that it was close by so we could go and "see" him whenever we wanted. My wife and I decided to get plots for ourselves at the same time ,since we had to do this for our son anyway. I guess being in shock helps you be practical even at a horrible time like this. This also brought me an odd sense of some comfort, since I knew my son would not be alone there forever. We decided on plots as close as possible to my wife's brother. All of this arranging had taken several hours. Someone in our group mentioned that we needed to get something to eat. I suddenly realized that I had eaten nothing since dinner the night before-the night my son was killed. I knew they were right, I shouldn't go without food, but I also knew I didn't feel like I would ever want to eat again. Right now all I wanted to do was get back home, back to our sanctuary, and try to hope that all of this still wasn't really happening. All through this terrible day, I had the thought in the back of my mind that sooner or later I would wake up and all this would prove to be just a nightmare. Unfortunately, of course, the nightmare that was my new life was all too real. When we got back home we found several media people wanting to talk to us.

07/15/2013

   I can't remember all of the details of our meeting with the mortuary counselor. I do remember all of us sitting in a tight group around his desk because no one wanted to sit outside. I do know we were asked to make decisions about things we had never thought about before-flowers, music, pallbearers, a minister, a location, burial, cremation, markers, a casket, etc. We decided on the things we could, other things would have to wait until a later time. I do remember how kind and patient the man seemed to be with us. I know that's his job, but I never felt rushed or pressured to decide things right away. He did his best, but this was the most awful meeting I'd ever been in. As I said before, my wife and I had both been involved in these things before, but nothing we'd ever experienced in any part of our lives had prepared us for a moment like this. To have to think about such things, to have to consider what Curtis would want just seemed to be so totally unnatural and unthinkable that it was virtually impossible to believe that this was actually happening. I t wasn't until we went into the casket display room that it really began to come into focus for me (at least for a few minutes) that yes, indeed, this horrible possibility was all too real. I remember all of us looking at the caskets trying to decide on colors and styles. There was the sound of crying and tissues being pulled from tissue boxes around me. After several minutes, we'd made decisions with which everyone seemed comfortable. I remember Carly saying, "I think Curtis would like all of this." I was wishing that he was there to speak for himself, because, obviously, if he were, none of this would be necessary, and we could just go home. As it was, we all went back to the main office to finish up. Now, earlier in our discussions my wife had asked about our son's body. We wanted to know when the coroner's office would release his body to the mortuary and when we would be able to see our son. At this point, we had not been told the condition of our son's body after the accident. The counselor told us that the coroner's office would be closing early that afternoon (this was a Friday) and would be closed on Monday due to the President's Day holiday, so the mortuary would not receive Curtis's body until Tuesday. That would affect when we could schedule the services.  It also meant that we would not be able to see our son for several more days and that he would be in that terrible place by himself until then. That thought was extremely upsetting to me. As we were ending our meeting, it seemed to me that in spite of the difficult decisions we'd already had to make, there were still many more ahead of us. The counselor reminded us of the things we still needed to do and that he would be in touch early next week. As I thanked him for all his help I thought how odd that sounded-to have to thank someone for helping us dispose of our son forever.

07/12/2013

   There were six of us who walked into the mortuary office at our scheduled appointment time: myself, my wife, her sister, my mom, my best friend, and our 10-year old daughter, Carly, who had insisted on going with us. She said she wanted to make sure we did things in a way that Curtis would have liked. I'd always called her my little rosebud, but she would prove through all of this terrible time for us to be the toughest flower I'd ever seen-a true steel magnolia. She later said it had helped her to feel like she was a part of things-to feel like she was there for her brother. We all entered the office and were greeted  by a mortuary counselor. He asked us to tell him how he could be of service. We briefly outlined our circumstances. He was very sensitive and caring, yet businesslike at the same time. I kept looking around to see if anyone would notice if I went screaming out of the room. I really did not want to be doing this, but sometimes in life we aren't given a choice about things. This was certainly something we would never in a million years have chosen to have happen to us, but here it was. As we were discussing the many things we needed to consider and what our many options were, I remember thinking that if this was truly to be the last thing we could ever do for our son, I wanted it to be done right. If he was really gone, that meant he would never have a graduation ceremony, or a wedding or another birthday party. I wanted his funeral services to be memorable. I wanted them to match the kind of blazing personality and spirit that had marked his life. I wasn't really sure at the time what that meant or exactly how to do it, but I hoped it would all somehow come together as a fitting tribute to our wonderful son.

07/11/2013

   The time seemed to creep along that morning, while we fielded phone calls, made more calls to people we hadn't already notified, talked about what was happening to us, sat and stared vacantly across the room, received more visitors, etc. At one point, I asked our oldest son if he wanted to go up to the high school to be with his teammates on the baseball team. (It was a school holiday, and the team was supposed to meet for practice). He said yes, so my best friend (who had taken the day off from work to be with us, along with his wife) and I drove him up to the school. This was to be the first of many times I would pass through the intersection where our son was killed, (not counting the evening before when I didn't yet know for sure what had happened to our Curtis) although this time my friend was doing the driving.  I suddenly realized that this was the first time my son, Casey, had to pass through the spot where his brother was taken from him as well. None of us spoke, and we passed through the intersection and went on to the high school without comment. My friend said later that he felt badly that he didn't think to go another way to get to the school. I told him not to worry as I hadn't thought about it either. We were all operating on automatic pilot at that point, although there would be times in the future that I would go out of my way to avoid having to go through that intersection. When we got to the school (the same parking lot where I'd begun to panic the previous night), we found out that word of Curtis's death had already begun to spread. A couple of the coaches met us outside the locker room, expressing their heartfelt condolences. They also said that there would be no practice that day, but that the players were all inside the locker room if Casey felt like he wanted to be with them. Casey nodded (he still hadn't said hardly a word all morning), and went inside with one of the coaches.
The other coach stayed outside with us. I remember Casey was gone for quite awhile while we talked outside, but I can't recall what we talked about with the coach except to say that he was very supportive    of us and what we were going through. I do remember that he was one of the first people outside our regular circle of family, friends, and neighbors I felt connected to after Curtis's passing. I remember that as feeling very positive. I can't recall how long we were there or exactly how we got back to the house, but I know at some point we all went back home, because there was other business to get to-that appointment time at the mortuary was drawing closer.

07/10/2013

   Unfortunately, by this time in our lives, both my wife and I had experienced dealing with mortuaries many times over the years, first in supporting roles as we lost loved ones as we were growing up, and more recently when we had more direct responsibilities for the arrangements. We had both experienced the loss of friends, uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, brothers, parents-but nothing prepared us to lose our child. All those other deaths all rolled into one did not come close to having the devastating emotional impact of losing our son. We knew of a couple of mortuary facilities in our area and decided to call the one closest to us. We had to look up the number in the yellow pages. As I turned the pages, I still could not believe we were actually doing this. It would, in fact, be a long time before any of this would soak in as being real. For now, and through all of the next several days, it just seemed as if we were planning and hosting a huge event for our son-not unlike previous times in his life we had planned a celebration of one kind or another. When things were all over surely our son would be coming back home. Crazy thinking. I guess it's the brain's way of helping you deal with something that is too horrible to actually handle in reality. We scheduled an appointment for later that morning. What to do until then?

07/08/2013

   By this time of the morning, early as I recall, my wife's sister and her husband and my lifelong best friend (and Curtis's godfather) and his wife had arrived. I remember people telling me that I needed to eat something, but I remember thinking that I doubted I would ever again feel like eating or drinking anything. I didn't think I would ever care about anything else again. I knew I was still in shock, but already I could feel this horrendous empty pain in my stomach that I feared I would always have from now on. I knew that their were things that would need to be done, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to focus my mind on anything. I had not been raised to feel emotions, but what I was feeling could not be ignored. I think the fear, uncertainty and anxiety of the entire situation of the previous evening had kept my mind sharp and focused. Now that we were realizing the awful truth, my mind was turning to mush. There were so many questions. What had really happened? How exactly had our son died? Did he realize what was happening to him? Was he afraid? Did he call out for us? Had he been in a lot of pain? What was the condition of his body? When would we get to see him? These were all questions we probably should have asked the night before, but were just now bubbling to the surface. Some of the answers would come in the days ahead. For now, there were more practical matters to address. We needed to contact a mortuary.

07/05/2013

   When I awoke in the morning, I had no moment of delusional bliss about what had happened the previous night. Unfortunately, I remembered all too clearly the unthinkable truth-our beloved Curtis was dead. I wanted to never have to get out of bed again. I felt like if I didn't get up I would not have to  face all the things that had been put into motion by the accident. I felt an emptiness in my stomach and a sudden sense of despair and hopelessness unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I wasn't sure quite what to do, but then I thought about my wife and daughter. Were they still asleep? Was my wife awake and feeling anything like what I was feeling? My son was still asleep, so I decided I had to go find my wife. I needed to be with her. She was already awake as well, although my daughter was still asleep. We embraced. I honestly don't remember if we even said anything to each other. We knew there would be things-horrible things- to take care of that day. We made some more early morning calls. My school principal called expressing her condolences, asking to please let her know if there was anything they could do for us, to take as much time as I needed, and to keep them apprised of any services. There was that thought again. Services. We would need to begin making plans for our son's funeral services. Where to begin?

07/04/2013

   A different message for today. Happy Independence Day to all! This was one of Curtis's favorite holidays. Now it also happens to be one of his sister, Carly's, favorite holidays as well. It wasn't always that way for Curtis, however. When he was a baby, and even into his toddler years, he hated this day. He didn't like the bright flashes and loud noises of the fireworks. Instead of being fascinated by all of that, he would most often cry, scream and hide his face until we removed him from the situation. It wasn't until he got older that he began to really enjoy the holiday and all the fireworks. As I said, it even became his favorite holiday. I think as he got older and could set off his own fireworks, he lost his fear of them and felt more in control. He became our "pyromaniac". When I think back to those early days after Curtis's death, I think those were two factors that I had a hard time dealing with-fear and loss of control. I'll expand on these topics in future postings. For today, I encourage everyone to find your way to celebrate this special day and all it means for us as a country. Happy Independence Day to all our family and friends, both those who are still here with us and those who have gone home. I love you, Curtis.

07/03.2013

   My wife needed to make some contacts as well, so I quickly dialed the number for the automated substitute teacher system to secure a replacement for me for the following day. In truth, I suddenly had for the first time in my teaching career absolutely no concern whatsoever with what my students would do in class the next day. I didn't know if I would ever be concerned about such seemingly mundane matters again. By the time we finished notifying the first people we felt would want to know and whom we needed to notify, my mom and stepdad showed up at our door. All my life my mom had had a way of making it seem like everything would be all right, but this time she had no words. We embraced without speaking. There would be time later to relate the awful details of our evening. For now, we just held each other. It had been a long time since I felt like I really needed a hug from my mom. I had been raised in a family that was not prone to emotional displays, but this hug I actually felt like I needed to the depths of my soul. My wife embraced her as well, and it was then that they both began to cry. I felt my own tears welling up as well as I turned to greet my stepdad. He and my mom had only been married for a few years at this time, but we'd known each other for almost 20 years. I had come to rely on his advice and wisdom many times over the years. We stayed up a while longer going over what had taken place. In spite of our anguished state of mind, exhaustion took over. I wasn't sure exactly what to do, but somehow it was decided that we could not let our son and daughter sleep alone that night. My wife would sleep with our daughter in our room while I slept with our son in his room. That felt right. Somehow my mom and stepdad would sleep in Curtis's room (this was where they usually slept whenever they spent the night with us). I fell into a fitful, restless sleep, hoping that somehow when I awoke  in the morning I would discover that this had all been a horrible nightmare. Obviously, that would not be the case.

07/01/2013

   I picked up the phone and dialed the number. Even at this late hour I was hoping that maybe for some reason my mom and stepdad would not answer the phone, but, of course, they did. These were the only grandparents my kids had ever had the chance to really know. I knew what I was about to say would devastate them. I told my mom what had happened. She was silent for several seconds, then I heard her relaying the news to my stepdad. When she spoke again she said only that they were coming right out. (They lived about 20 miles away). I didn't even have to ask her to come. She didn't even ask if we wanted them to come (which we did). They were just coming. I felt a great sense of relief. They now knew what had happened and were on their way to be with us. The next call I had to make was to my teaching colleague at work. I knew I would not be going to school the next day, and I wanted him to know why so he could help the substitute teacher get through the day. He was a former police officer who had seen a lot of tragic things during his career, but the news caught him by surprise. He had known Curtis when our son was a student at my school. He said not to worry, that he would take care of everything, and was there anything else we needed him to do. I asked him just to let everyone else know what had happened, and I would be in touch when we knew about the arrangements. Arrangements? That was the first time I'd even thought about having to make arrangements for our son's services. How does one go about planning for your child's funeral? That's not how things are supposed to go. Parents don't plan services for their child. The child is supposed to-someday-plan services for the parents. Why was this happening?