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.