Sitting behind my computer, as I generally am, on a bright sunny morning (the last Sunday of March), the house alive with the jovial, rambunctious laughter of 6 little girls just arising from a Saturday night sleepover, I learned that the younger brother of one of my daughter's friends was killed earlier that morning in a one vehicle accident. And, despite the giggles and grins that surrounded me, my heart broke.
In my 39 years, I've experienced the deaths of many people... from family, friends and acquaintances to those I know merely through their celebrity status. Death touches all of us, I know. And, I think, because it touches everyone personally, we all have felt those feelings of deep sorrow or even distantly removed compassion and empathy in almost every instance when death is brought to our attention. But, something about this particular tragedy, given that I knew this young man merely by name, touched me in a manner I'm not accustomed to and wasn't prepared for.
I was actually shocked by my own reaction, and my reaction most definitely took my husband by surprise -- when I called to tell him about a boy he didn't know any better than those he reads about in the newspaper, yet proceeded to burst into tears while doing it. I didn't even know those tears were present, let alone so very close to the surface. And for the last three days, I've pondered my reaction and have been left with a feeling of guilt and a sense of overzealous emotional dramatics, akin to that of a hormonal teenager, for tearing up when I think of him...it seems sort of trite to be so sensitive to a boy I didn't even know and my own bleakness seems certainly a slap in the face to those that knew him well...most especially his mother and father...as I'm sure they'd give all that they have if they only had to endure "just" the amount of grief I'm feeling.
Of course, this tragedy has been a great topic of discussion within our small, cozy community, and some have mentioned that perhaps we're feeling this way because it is so easy, having children nearly the same age and with whom he was good friends, to visualize our own children in the same situation. And the guilt comes from being glad they aren't. That's probably true enough. But, I don't think that's it alone. Perhaps it is because this young man's older brother had been at our home many times, making him, by association, more familiar to me than others. Or maybe it was that my daughter and his older sister had shared a basketball court for the last three years and during that time his parents and I shared many a seat in the bleachers and shared many a banquet dinner. Could be, and most certainly plays a substantive role in my sadness for their loss. But, still, I don't think that's all.
I think, maybe, it's not knowing him, it's knowing his story...a handsome, vital, effervescent, 16 year old young man who woke up on a Saturday morning ready to take on the world, none of us, including him, having the slightest inclination that he wouldn't do the same again on Sunday morning. It's being able to visualize him hanging with his friends at that night's school dance and how probably he left afterward in anxious of anticipation of meeting up with his friends somewhere else. It's the fact that I can hear the laughter of a boy I've never met before and hear the easy flow of humor that must've been bantered back and forth at the after dance get together. I can see the high fives between his buddies and good natured ribbing as they teased each other jokingly and I can hear the discussions of upcoming summer plans, those who are graduating this year talking of where they will go, and those who aren't talking about how they would keep in touch.
It's understanding that when he left that night, he had plans... and no matter how immediate or insignificant, how remote or life altering, those plans did not include losing control of his vehicle and leaving behind a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a girlfriend and countless other friends and family members. It's understanding the notion that we can be here one second and gone the next and it's knowing that when you're 16 years old, you have little conscious recognition of just how quickly you can cross that divide and how that sense of immortality that only comes with being young, puts our children at a dangerous disadvantage. It's because every time I see a truck whizzing by on the street behind my home, I feel the spirit of a young man I never knew, wishing he could silently make the driver understand what he now knows. It's understanding, even though I didn't know him personally, that he'd give anything to turn back the hands of time just a few minutes, to alter his own course of destiny and it's knowing that he has no power to do so.
But, most of all, my grief comes from the complete and total empathy I feel for his mother. For understanding how even the smallest of tasks, like taking a shower or brushing her teeth, must be all consuming. It's because I can only imagine how much she must hate awakening from her dreams only to recall her reality. It's because this young man...a virtual stranger...has etched his way into my heart...through my compassion for a mother that has lost her child all too soon. It's because each time I take a bite of my lunch, I wonder when the next time will be that she feels like eating lunch. It's because every time I laugh with my kids, I wonder when again she'll be able to find laughter within herself. It's because I know what it means to look at your grown child, and realize he is old enough to put himself into a vehicle and drive away, but still only see the face of the baby who once depended on you for everything. I think it's because I can imagine just how much she must want to go to him now, hold his hand and caress his cheek, assuring that he's not lonely or afraid, as if he were five years old again and simply having a bad dream... yet knowing that, while her son has most assuredly found peace, her nightmare has just begun.
So, while I don't know you personally, Garrett, I hope it's okay for me to tell you goodbye. I hope it's okay if I mourn your passing and miss a person I never knew. I wanted you to know that no matter the decisions that led you to this outcome, you were a good guy, I'm sure of it. You were a good friend, a good brother and a much beloved son. Those qualities touch us, as a society, as human beings.. to know someone (or in my case, know of someone) who was so good, touched by something so bad. And, I may not have known you, but I'll remember you. I hope that's alright with you as well.
And in my struggles to find out why the death of a stranger has touched me more than most, I think I've come to an understanding. I mourn the loss of you, though you're a Stranger, because Death is not. I know the pain caused by its unexpectedness. The grief caused by its permanency. The abruptness and bewilderment caused by its all too early arrival. I know those things well, so I feel l know you well.
And though this is most assuredly a devastating time for your family and dear friends...as they're dealing with a pain that will only *ease* with time, but never fully heal, I wish I could tell them that along with the pain, grief, abruptness and bewilderment, also comes comfort and healing. But since I cannot tell them...because even if I could, my words would hold little power to their pain and it's something they will have to find out on their own...I'll tell you. Don't worry Garrett. You may rest peacefully knowing your family and friends will find the strength they need to go on. They will forever see your face in a crowd, but in time, instead of anguish when they see that face, will come joy. Joy at the memories they shared with you while you were together. Joy at knowing that you are in a better place. Joy in knowing that the Lord, who has bigger plans for all of us, welcomed you with Open Arms even though His plan for you began earlier than the rest of us were ready. And joy in knowing that someday they will be reunited with you, when the Lord chooses to receive them with those same Open Arms he did you. And, eventually, they will take comfort in those thoughts. There will be, someday, more laughter, joy, merriment, pride, good times and even some more tears and heartache for all those that loved you. They will move on. But, as long as the Earth is plenty with those that knew you and loved you, your footprints will remain...and they will not forget. Not ever. I just wanted you to know that. Godspeed, Stranger. Godspeed and Goodbye.
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