All Souls and All Memories
It is okay to cry today
The most difficult circumstance in life, in my humble opinion, is to lose a child. This has not happened to me, but such a loss touched me because I knew two children who died.
The first tragedy happened to a woman who worked for me. Maria, in the middle of a move, followed a van that was loaded with her stuff, and her 15 year old son. She watched, in horror, as the van was sideswiped. This caused the van to spin out of control, and slide into a light pole. This concrete pole crushed the passenger side of the van, killing her son.
When I imagine it, the accident, it horrifies me. My heart skips, and I shut the picture out of my brain. I am not, however, crushed by it. At the funeral, my sympathy for Maria, knew no bounds. It did not matter, however, how closely I held her sobbing in my arms, or how many times I kissed the top of her head to try and chase some of the sadness away, the memory that she held would never leave her.
On this day, I offer up my remembering her Richard. Even though the business long ago closed, and I have not seen her for 25 years, it is incumbent upon me, the one the gods have not visited such a tragedy upon, to keep my condolences coming to all the mothers who have lost a child.
Many times the gods fool us, toy with us, for they are not done with us. Not more than 6 months later, Stephen, my son’s best friend, drowned. This one came quite close to home, for Stephen was a frequent visitor to our house. Stephen and Nick, in the spring of 1997, were looking forward to turning 16 in August, especially so, since their birthdays were only 4 days apart. The talk of driving and cars was constant that spring.
Late one night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard my husband say, “Nick, what’s the matter.” Shaking off the sleep, thinking he was coming down with a cold or something of that nature, I sat up to see his shadow in the hall that led to our bedroom.
Nick was crying. “Stephen is dead.”
His anguish crushed me. And, for the first time in my life, I felt absolutely helpless. The days that followed were a nightmare for Nick. At the funeral mass, I lost it completely when they brought that casket in. This could be my son, they played at the same risky games. Afterwards, once we had stood by whilst Stephen was buried, Stephen’s dad told me of his anguish, that his son would be forgotten. That no one would know that he had existed.
That is the purpose of this day. So that those of us who survive, and are not visited with such tragedy can tell the world that once upon a time, a boy named Stephen lived. And a boy name Richard, lived. They didn’t get to grow up, to get jobs, marry, or have children. Or drive a car.
There is no one to blame, no use in shaking one’s fist at God or the gods/fates over these tragedies. This is life. Period.
The best thing on this day is to feel gratitude. I am grateful that I was not visited with such an ordeal. Boys do push the envelope. And, in remembering the past, I am grateful for my ancestors, for their survival. My mother, my father, my grandparents. I miss you, I love you.
And yes, I too miss Stephen. You can bet Maria still misses Richard.