Survivors Guilt (part3)

After we left the site of the accident, Lydia asked some of us to go back to her house. When we got there, some of the teenagers were still there. Amir's girlfriend wanted to show me his bedroom. I went upstairs with her, she was a very mature young woman. Just as composed a Amir's Mother, it just amazed me - it still does.

She smiled as she showed me pictures of them together and some of his favorite things. There was a score board on his wall. I felt a little dizzy to see the scores up there and one of the names was Ben. How innocent, how fun, dated just a couple of days before.

When I went back downstairs, a lot of people had left. Most of the adults were sitting in the living room, awkwardly. No one seemed what to do next. what to say. Then the doorbell rang. I was surprised to see one of Bens teachers. His favorite one actually. It turned out she was also a minister, and Thank God, she knew what to do. This is the part that needs to be thought about before anything happens.

She started asking specific questions and making a list. She had suggestions as to which cemeteries, funeral homes and things like that. She helped Lydia pick the pall bearers, which included Ben and Aaron.

I will forever be grateful for her presence, her knowledge and her understanding.

Lydia introduced us to Amir's Father. He was from Pakistan, and I kept wondering if there was anything specific that I/we should say to him. They wanted to ask our boys some questions. Things like, why and how. They were trying so hard to have some kind of understanding. But there was no understanding. It was senseless. How do you tell a person's parents, that there was just no good reason for their son to be dead? The look on their faces made it hard for me to breathe.

They also asked things about his last moments. What did he eat at the restaurant, what did he drink, what was his mood? Did he talk about anything specific? And it kept coming back to the hardest question, why was it their son who died that night? Ben and Aaron looked sick as they answered as best as they could.

The rest of that day and the next are a blur to me. I do remember that when Ben wanted to go over to Aaron's, wanted to get in his car and drive, it freaked me out. Every fiber of my being wanted to say NO! No, please don't leave the house. Please don't drive.

However, somehow, reason kicked in. I knew that if he didn't try to get things back to normal as soon as he could, it would probably make things even worse. And I knew Ben and Aaron needed to be together. Each one understood exactly how the other one was feeling.

But it was so hard as a parent to try to be logical at a time like that. More than ever, I missed the little boy that loved to hold my hand when we went for walks. Ben and I have always been close. He must have seen the terror I was trying to hide, because he came back to kiss me on the forehead before he left. My almost grown up little boy.

I called Stephanie and we had long talks. We felt the same way. We met for lunch, with all of our children. No one was sure how to feel, how to act. I laughed at something one of the younger kids did, and immediately felt guilty about it. All eyes were on me, so I tried to act normal. And that seemed to release everyone else. Slowly, we all felt a little more like ourselves. I'm glad we had that lunch.

They had a large candlelight vigil that night at the high school. It seemed everyone in town was there. It had turned freezing cold, but everyone came. Amir's parents came and the crowd parted for them. After a lot of hugs and condolence, Amir's Father spoke to the crowd. He told us how grateful he was that his son had been so warmly accepted in our schools and community. But I knew that he hadn't just been accepted, he was loved.

The funeral the next morning was absolutely painful and heart breaking. In the halls of the church, they had tables with items of Amir's. Sets of shoes, from baby shoes to is current teen age ones, trophies he had won over the years, some of his favorite T-shirts that he had thought were funny.

Inside the church, there were two large screen on either side that showed a constant slideshow of pictures of his life. Day to day pictures, vacation pictures, baby pictures.

I was surprised to see that there was an open coffin. There were so many people there, we sat near the back with Aaron's parents. Ben and Aaron were sitting on the front row. It had been decided that they would all wear black hoodies. Amir was being buried in his favorite white hoodie, tied tightly to just show only the main part of his face. I was afraid I knew the reason for that.

From where we were sitting, my eyes went from Ben and Aaron, to the coffin to the parents. I could barely bring myself to watch the constant slide show of the life that was gone. It was all getting too much. Aarons Mom, Stephanie keep leaning over to me, telling me to breathe. I didn't realize how hard I was crying. I was silently crying, so many tears that it felt like a hot waterfall rushing down my cheeks. I couldn't breathe because I was afraid people would hear me. I was afraid I was going to loose it. I was afraid if I made any noise I would just start wailing and shrieking. My composure was gone. The part of me that had seemed so strong to everyone else at the scene of the accident, and up until now, was gone. Right there, in public I was afraid I was going to collapse. Stephanie handed me tissues, my husband held my hand tightly. Almost twenty years together, he had never seen me like this. I had never seen myself like this. I absolutely could not stop.

I was afraid Ben might turn around and see me, making things even worse - if possible. I got up and Stephanie followed me to the restroom. She tried to make a little joke about how different we were. She had fallen apart the night of the accident, and here I was falling apart now. In public. I kept splashing my face with cold water and trying to breath normally. I couldn't, and I couldn't stop the tears either. Finally I did manage to take a few deep breaths. I grabbed some paper towels and smoothed my hair into place.

We went back into the church. My husband looked pale with worry. Stephanie's husband looked pretty shocked. I wasn't embarrassed, like I always thought I would be, to loose it in public like that. I was scared. Would our boys ever be the same? Was it even fair to think of that here and now?

During the service, different people went up to talk. Amir's Father stood behind the pulpit and said he wanted to sing a song to his son. A song his son had loved when he was little. He bravely started to sing, looking down at his son in the coffin. His voice broke several times, he had to bend down to get his breathe. He sang in his own language. It was beautiful, it was torture. He was almost near the end of the song, and starting to falter even more. Then his uncle and brother joined him and helped him finish the song. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen.

We hear so much about people from the Middle East. Mostly in the media. But if Pakistan can produce people like this, what are we fighting for? These were good, loving people. It reminded me that we can't generalize. People are people, and we all feel pain and heartbreak.

Over the next months, we fought hard to try to make life normal again. Stephanie and I made ourselves sick every time the boys went out the door. We tried hard not to let the boys know. Graduation came. Both of our boys turned 18. They made their college choices. Aaron decide to go away to college. Ben goes to a college nearby.

As hard as it was to let go, to let them continue making their own decisions and deal with everything in the best way that they could - it was the best thing we could have done.

We all still think about Amir, and what happened. I think we always will. It didn't have to happen. One wrong choice, one wrong move and a life ends. Just like that. My Mother always says, "Every step you take along the way, leads you to where you are today." We try hard to teach our children that actions have consequences. But it's hard to know how far those consequence reach. The toll they could take on everyone else.

Ben and Aaron will forever live with a feeling of guilt. Why did they agree to do it? Why did Amir have to die? It could so easily have been one or both of them. Ben feels guilty for not speaking up when he wanted to. I've heard that survivor's guilt lasts forever.

This has taken a lot longer to tell than I ever thought it would. But if it does affect even one person enough to make a difference, even save a life, then I'm glad I did it. It's personal, it's painful, and it's the raw truth.

Please remember this. Drive safely and pass this story along. Tell people the story yourself, tell everyone you love, everyone you know to please drive carefully. I know there are millions of stories similar to this. And there doesn't have to be.

With Love, KT