10/27/2013

As time went by, it became more difficult to keep things that were happening in any kind of chronological order. The demands of daily living began to crowd out the things that I felt were of much greater importance, like the case against the person who had caused the accident. I was beginning to understand, however, that we definitely had no control over any of that. We were in contact with the Assistant District Attorney in charge of the case, but I realize now that he was in a difficult position himself. From his point of view, he was trying to use his years of experience to deal with all of us novices in a realistic way, but we didn't want realism. At least, I didn't. I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that I wanted the man who had so carelessly and thoughtlessly caused all of my grief to be punished. I didn't really care what the law said was possible or probable in such a case. I wanted justice. I wanted the man to feel some kind of remorse. I wanted to know that his life was ruined in the same way my life  was now in tatters. We were told that the man had quickly secured a lawyer and had put any kind of financial assets into his wife's name so as to head off any claim to them any of us might try to pursue in the future. At one point, we were approached by his lawyer to gauge our interest in joining them in a possible lawsuit against the man's healthcare providers, who we were told might be negligent in providing him with some medication he may or may not have been taking at the time of the accident, and which may or may not have contributed to the accident taking place. But the tests done on him at the hospital the night of the accident showed no such substance was present in his system. Apparently, that was more to the point. His lawyer seemed to intimate that he was off his medication because he hadn't been properly instructed on how to take it. We were outraged that anyone, even a low-life attorney, would think for one single second that we would in any way want to profit from our son's death. I'm not sure what we would have done to the man if he had made such an unthinkable, insulting proposal to us in person, but I believe he would have had trouble getting out of the room in one piece.

I suppose he might have found takers in a situation like this in previous cases, but it wouldn't be us. We were not interested in his blood money proposal. That wouldn't bring our son home to us. Even if it did, how do you put a monetary value on a person's life? No, I wanted simple justice. I knew, of course, that even that would not restore my son to me. Nothing could do that, but I wanted justice for my son. I wanted this man to know that my son was a valuable, loved human being who had had a bright future stretching out before him until it was horribly cut short due to one man's negligence. I wanted justice. I really wasn't sure at the time exactly what I meant by that, nor did I realize how hard we would have to fight to get it. I just knew I wanted justice for my son-whatever that ended up being.

10/18/2013

   Once I got back to work, some aspects of what we were facing did become a little easier with which to deal, but nothing could really be described as easy. We were still trying to find our way through this dark wilderness that had become our daily existence, as individuals and as a family. I still felt a tremendous sense of failure and guilt that I had not been able to protect my son from harm. Wasn't that supposed to be one of the main functions of a father? If I couldn't protect Curtis, how was I supposed to believe that my other two children could be safe from harm? I had prayed every day with what I had believed was a faithful heart for God to bless and protect my children from anything or anyone that would even attempt to cause them harm. Where had my prayers gone? I wrestled with ancient questions with no real answers. If God is all-loving, and supposedly desires only what is truly best for us, how could any of what we were experiencing be the best in any way for any of us? If God is truly all-knowing and all-powerful, how could He have allowed something so horrible to happen? Are we all just victims of destiny?  Are we all just pawns in some great celestial game of chance? Was it just time for Curtis and his friends to leave this world for some unknown reason? Was it part of their destiny to all leave this earth together? Was the accident that night set in motion years before when we moved to our city? Could anything have prevented our son's death, and those of his friends, or was what we were enduring part of some unknowable, unalterable plan? Going back to work filled some of the time that I had been using to consider such questions, but it didn't make them go away, it only pushed them to the back of my consciousness, where they laid in wait until such time as they could rise again to torment me more directly. Logically, I knew, as many people tried to remind me, that many of these questions would have no acceptable answers, at least not in this world. That was a truth that only the passage of time would help me to accept. In the beginning I was too busy trying to accept the obvious reality that my son was gone forever, and deal with all that that meant in my life and the lives of my family. We were still going to counseling to deal with these more immediate issues. I was learning to survive one day at a time, one moment at a time, one breath at a time. I was trying to understand what my wife and surviving children were feeling and how they were dealing with their emotions and grief. No, things were not in any way easy, and some days were harder than others, but as the days crawled by I did begin to realize that I was surviving-not thriving-but at least surviving. Was there really any other choice?

10/05/2013

   I knew my colleagues would continue to be supportive of me as they had been since the beginning. I also knew I had the support of my principal. I wasn't as sure about how the students would take all of this, but they were great. My friend who had taken on most of the responsibility for my class as the substitute teacher during my absence told me that most of them had been on their best behavior the entire time. I appreciated that so much. Many of my colleagues told me that if I ever needed to take a break during the day, if things got to be too much for me, to just let them know. I got through those first two days, somehow, and felt OK. I felt a few pangs of guilt about it. How could I even think about such mundane matters as work when my son was gone forever? Wasn't that in some way devaluing Curtis's life? We'd already started hearing about other people who had lost their child in the past who had gone into shells, some never coming out. Was I a bad father to be able to go back to work so soon?
I wasn't sure myself, but I knew Curtis had loved his life and would not want me to wallow in my loss forever. He would want me to find ways to go on. I knew that had to be what happened now. I could not leave my wife and surviving children to endure this horror alone. My life as a teacher had always been a large part of my identity, and now it would play a large role in my finding my way out of this situation I never dreamed I would be in. I did wonder, though, if I would ever again be the kind of teacher I had been before. Everything else in my life had been turned upside down. How could this part of my life be any different? It was, however, somewhat comforting to get back to some kind of "normal" schedule. With the ongoing visits to the courtroom, counseling sessions, moment by moment issues that continued to come up virtually everyday, life continued to be a challenge. There were good days and bad days. One of my most frustrating moments came when I was conferencing with a parent a few weeks after going back to work. It turned out to be what led to the introductory title to my first blog entry. By this time I had begun to be more forgiving of people when they made insensitive, ignorant comments. I realized that most people meant well, but they simply could not understand what we were going through, nor is it something parents even want to try to comprehend. It's just too horrible to even think about. I get that. People had sometimes made us feel like we had some kind of contagious disease; that if they stayed too close to us what had happened to us could happen to them. I realized that we were a constant affirmation to people of just that fact: if such a terrible tragedy could happen to a family like ours, it could happen to anyone. We'd already noticed some people we thought had been our friends had dropped by the wayside, either through their wishes or ours. We simply did not have enough energy to deal with people who could not be fully supportive of us during this difficult time, be they family, friend, neighbor, acquaintance, etc. I knew that this parent meant well, and was trying to be   compassionate, but it didn't come off that way. She said that her family had all been praying for us (which I appreciated), but went on to say that I must be doing well and had gotten over everything by now since I was back at school. I, gave her a weak smile, thanked her for her concern, and went on to finish the conference. I had already learned that it usually wasn't worth my time or energy to try to correct someone's misperception about our situation. Most people simply could not, or would not, be able to understand. However, I wanted to scream at this woman! What was she talking about? This was not my goldfish that had died! This was my, precious, beloved, one and only, uniquely talented son. A son who I would never again be able to hug, kiss, talk to, go to ballgames with, watch play sports, take fishing, hear laugh, argue with, or give guidance to. A son who would never go to a high school dance, never graduate, never go to college, never get married or have a family of his own. How could anyone possibly think that I would ever get over something like that, let alone in only a few weeks? I was already beginning to understand that I would be spending the rest of my life learning how to live through, not get over, this horrible truth: I would never see my son again in this world.