12/19/2013

     My first reaction was to run-just run away and keep running. Run as far and as fast as I could for as long as I could. Run until I found a place where what I just heard would not be true. Run myself into oblivion. I didn't care about anything or anyone else. I had to find a place where children don't die before their parents. A place where parents get to finish the job they were given-get to finish raising their children to adulthood. These feelings only lasted until the police dropped us off at our neighbor's house after we'd been told the terrible news. When I looked into the stricken faces of my son and daughter, and saw how my wife had seemed to age years in the last few minutes, I realized that I was not the only one impacted by what had just happened. Even the looks on our neighbor's faces hinted at how far-reaching our son's death would become. On that first night I wasn't sure how it would happen, but I knew I needed to find a way through this breaking storm. Fortunately, the body has a way of going into a state of functioning shock-a kind of auto-pilot system when confronted with something as unthinkable as the death of a child. In this state I was able to adequately function and help my wife take care of business and make decisions I never expected to have to make, but decisions that now were so vitally important. The problem was that such a state, which helps us function at a time when normally we would be unable to do so, doesn't last forever. I thought I was doing quite well handling this new situation, but when the shock began to wear off, to be replaced by a gradual dawning of true realization, I knew as a man, a father  and a husband I was ill-equipped to deal with the truth.

12/17/2013

     Even during those first few shocking, mind-numbing moments as we were given the news of our son's death I already started thinking that if this were true everything would be changing-my relationship with my wife and children, how I perceived and related to the world, how I viewed myself-everything! A darker thought also was already taking root during those first horrible minutes: is it even possible to survive something like this, and if so, how? As I mentioned previously, this eventuality is not something one can prepare for. Indeed, it's not something one even wants to consider could ever actually occur. It's just too horrible to even think about, as if thinking about it would somehow be  tempting the fates into making it a reality. Ready or not, like it or not this most terrible of possibilities had now become our new reality. Our lives had been suddenly thrown into absolute and total chaos, spiraling and spinning wildly beyond our control. Our darkest fear became real in the blink of an eye. All that was left to be determined now was how would we respond, as individuals and as a family. It was a very frightening and unsettling thought that what we chose to do in the coming days, both singly and together, would greatly determine the rest of our lives for good or for ill.

12/16/2013

     During these last thirteen tumultuous years I have learned a few things about grief that I never expected to have to learn, at least not regarding the death of one of my children. That was something I never, ever expected to have to deal with. In and of itself that seems to violate every common sense precept of how life is supposed to go. The older are supposed to die first. That is somewhat expected, even almost acceptable. It's the normal order of nature. When a child dies it throws everything we thought we knew about life into chaos. Suddenly, nothing in life makes any sense. Everything we thought was true was now thrown into question. If my son could die what else about life was no longer true? Was there anything I could count on? That's one of the crueler aspects of grief-it will find everyone sooner or later. It is no respecter of person or place or station in life. It cares not about fame or wealth. It treats all the same. It strikes so suddenly, often with no warning at all, and with such ferocity that it invariably catches us unaware and sorely unprepared, especially when it involves the death of a child. That was the way I felt on that long-ago night when I first heard those horrible, life-changing words: "Your son died at the scene". Grief had found me. How was I to respond? Could I respond?

12/15/2013

     And make no mistake, it has been a horrible journey. Anyone who says otherwise is either still in the midst of major denial issues, is mentally ill or lying. There are positive ways to try to deal with such a horrendous loss just as there are negative ways, but it must be dealt with one way or another. We did the best we could at the time to deal with each aspect as it arose. Sometimes our efforts were successful, other times less so. Now, almost thirteen years after our loss, we are survivors. Did we always do everything right? No. Did we sometimes veer offtrack? Yes. Are there things we could or should have done differently? Of course. Are we always 100 percent well now? Absolutely not. But we have survived and are continuing to do so, some days more successfully than others. The basketball tournament that is held annually in our son's memory at his middle school has grown bigger and better every year. The tournament enables us to continue to award a scholarship in his name every year at his high school. We still are in contact with many of his friends, classmates and teammates and are constantly amazed at what a positive and enduring impact Curtis has had on the lives of so many people in his short 14 years of life. But with all the positives we've found to hold on to through the years, the fact remains that they only exist because we lost our son. And we lost our son due to the negligence of one unthinking, uncaring person at one very horrible moment in time. We never got to see our son graduate from high school or college, never got to see him marry the woman of his dreams and raise his own family, never got to spoil his children as grandparents, never got to finish raising him and share his grown-up life. The children of our surviving son and daughter will never have the joy of getting to know their Uncle Curtis and what an amazing person he truly was.  Every time there's a family gathering there's always someone missing-and he will always be missing, at least in a physical sense. All those things, and so much more, were stolen from us on that terrible night. Over these many years I've made a kind of peace with it all. I had to, but it hasn't been easy. I wish with all my heart that it was a journey I never had to go on, but I'm grateful to be where I am now.