Given the recent events in Buffalo and in Texas, and — it seems everywhere in this country — I wanted to share some thoughts on the subject of a parent losing a child.
Unfortunately, I’m a member of the awful club made up of parents who have lost children.
This time of year especially, brings that hard fact bubbling to the surface, as my loss occurred 15 years ago on May 26.
Flashback to the summer of 1992, when I was at a cookout with friends and co-workers. At the time, I was a police officer assigned to a local and regional Drug Task Force.
We had just successfully completed a rather large case and “took down” a bad guy who was the regional target. The friend who hosted the cookout had a beautiful backyard, complete with a built-in swimming pool.
Four boys, all about 5 years old, were in the pool. One was mine; two were sons of state troopers, and one was a son of a federal drug enforcement agent. All had blondish hair.
They were laughing and playing when suddenly a young girl exited the pool crying, claiming the kid with the “blond” hair took her toy and wouldn’t give the toy back. It was a 1-in-4 shot, I thought to myself, but, of course, my kid was identified as the culprit.
The four boys got the ceremonial be-respectful-to-others speech all parents give to their kids.
The son of one of the troopers went on to attend and graduate from West Point. He was commissioned a second lieutenant and sent to Afghanistan where he was killed on the battlefield bravely leading his squad in a firefight.
A second boy, also a trooper’s son, attended the Coast Guard Academy. He was in Boston during one of the years the New England Patriots won the Super Bowl. He was killed while enjoying the festivities when he was struck by a motor vehicle.
A third boy who was the son of the federal agent died of a drug overdose, while attending West Point.
The fourth boy, my son, died of a drug overdose at the age of 20. He had completed a semester of college and wanted to become a police officer.
I often think of the four boys in the pool who all had so much potential and so much to contribute to the world. Any of their parents would go back in time to that day and never let the boys out of their sight again.
Losing a child is an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. There are the missed holidays, birthdays, and graduations, and missing out on proudly watching your kid bring up his or her own children.
A big gulp forms in your throat at any event you find yourself wishing, oh man, you wish so hard, that your deceased son or daughter was there with you.
All you can do is hold yourself together and not disrupt what is otherwise a good time. So tears are held back and you sort of climb inside yourself and put on a big front. You smile, offer a few comments here and there, and pray to God to stop the misery you are feeling.
Holding back the tears with the huge hole loss left in your heart is the daily reminder that the lost child will never re-appear.
We visit the cemeteries, post memories on social media, and say silent prayers. But when you are alone, you find yourself just breaking down. You pound yourself with questions: Could I have done anything differently to have avoided such a tragedy?
The problem is you don’t find an answer to that question and inevitably this creates more questions which only enhance the internal pain. There is no comfort to ease the pain of losing a son or daughter. It seems easier to rationalize a parental or grandparental loss, but losing one’s child can’t be rationalized.
One thing that helped me was the availability of support groups of parents who, like me, are members of this awful club. Salem Hospital and others offer great support groups where parents who lose children can openly discuss their individual story.
Talking with other parents in this position won’t eliminate the pain but it does help with not internalizing such hard grief.
While there are different levels of how one’s child is lost; for instance, being violently killed by a madman with an AR-15 as opposed to a non-violent overdose, there is no difference to the parent.
Your child is gone and not coming back. So when the politicians start jumping up and down demanding action to prevent losses such as Buffalo, Texas, or the opiate crisis causing so many overdose deaths, ask them to stop and sit down and create some obvious solutions.
To the folks in positions of power: If you do manage to sit down, remember Texas, Buffalo, or, in my case, the four boys in the pool. I know I do every day.
