July 7, 2011

As I said earlier, I am a worrier.  Before Max died, nothing really bad had ever happened to me.  Sure, I’d lost people I loved and cared about, but I had warning with most of them.  Or I was just too young to really understand the magnitude of the void left when someone just ceases to exist in an instant.  I guess the point is that my worrying didn’t stem from any particular incident that proved to me that bad things happen no matter how hard you try to avoid them.  I will say that watching the “Final Destination” movies was really a terrible idea for me.  They only helped me imagine new scenarios that would lead to my unavoidable (as proven by the movies) death or the death of my loved ones.  I haven’t ridden a roller coaster, been to a race, or comfortably driven behind a large truck carrying logs or other heavy items since seeing any of these movies.  My worrying really stemmed from becoming a mother.  As a mother, my purpose in life is to protect my children.  Sometimes life makes it impossible to do so though.

When Ethan was three and a half years old, I found out that one of my former students had died.  His name was Sam, and he was four days away from turning 18.  I didn’t teach Sam in a typical classroom setting because he had been sick for many years.  I went to Sam’s house a few times a week and sat at his kitchen table with him, working one-on-one on assignments for school that seemed silly and insignificant considering what Sam was going through every day.  He had bone cancer for the second time in his short life.  I met with Sam sometimes after his treatments, which made him incredibly nauseous and weak.  And I was supposed to make this kid give a shit about The Scarlet Letter?  Pardon my language, but that’s how I felt at the time.  I still do feel that way.  What I liked most about my time with Sam was just talking to him.  He loved the outdoors, and he would light up when he talked about hunting and fishing trips that he went on with his family.  Understandably, he did not light up when we had to get back to discussing math concepts that he would never get the opportunity to use in real life or vocabulary words that would never have meaning to him.  I was amazed at Sam’s optimism sometimes, and I would leave his house convinced that he would get better and live a long, happy life.  Maybe that was my way of avoiding the inevitable, but I really don’t think so.  I convinced myself that Sam would live. 

He didn’t.  Sam died just before he turned 18.  I was genuinely shocked to learn of his death.  Ethan was about to turn four.  I cried when I found out, and I spent months hugging Ethan and telling him how much I loved him, how happy I was to have him as my son, and that I would always do my best to protect him.  I couldn’t imagine the despair that Sam’s parents were experiencing, and honestly, I was glad that I didn’t know what it felt like.  I know that sounds selfish, but I also think it’s realistic and natural to feel that way.  Every parent feels for the parent who has lost a child, but they also hope that they never know what it feels like to outlive their children.  In my opinion, there is absolutely nothing wrong with thinking that way.  It just means that you love your child like you should.  Sam’s death made me feel lucky to have Ethan, and it made me appreciate every ounce of him.  Suddenly, his temper tantrums and bouts of selective hearing weren’t so awful.  I became the mom who could handle meltdowns with a calm, steady voice and patience.  I reminded myself of Sam’s parents every time I felt like I was going to lose my temper with Ethan.  I hugged him and kissed him whenever I felt like it because I knew that my ability to do so could be taken away at any moment, like it had been from Sam’s parents.  I hope that other parents had the same reaction to Max’s death, and I hope they don’t feel guilty about it.  Max’s death should serve as a reminder to others that you can never give your children too much love, too much reassurance, or too much of yourself.  My friend’s sister wrote a blog about Max’s death and its impact on her.  Although she never met Max, his life and death made her consider her perspective on life.  I can’t say it better than she did.  Please to enjoy… 

http://sassybeos.blogspot.com/2011/06/perspective.html