I Feel Like I've Been Socked in the Gut

I've been busy. Too busy to answer email, and too busy to complete the light-hearted tale of Beverly Hills shopping and Oscar preparation, which I'd worked on in dribs and drabs last week every day before school, but was unable to get ready before the big night.

Every day there's another demand on my time... the never-ending stream of paperwork that has to be done at the school... a script project a friend asked me to help her with... PTA stuff... Gym stuff (I recently started working in the snack bar there, in exchange for a reduction in Megan's tuition fees)... I have bills to pay and taxes to prepare, and this week I'm on call for jury duty (and so far, have dodged that bullet -- thank goodness). I feel like I'm constantly on the move, running from one obligation to another, and never getting ahead.

And then something happens that freezes you in your tracks.

Saturday morning, while I was cheering Megan on at her latest gymnastics meet, another family at our school was rushing their child to the hospital. He'd been fine on Thursday. He contracted a virus on Friday. In a very rare event (the experts keep assuring us), it attacked his heart. He died Saturday afternoon. He was in the third grade.

News like this travels fast. As a member of our PTA board, I'd received several emails over the weekend from friends who were close to the family. And as an employee of the school, I also took a call from our principal, who wanted to see to it that all the staff knew and was prepared to answer the questions and quell the fears of our students. She said the school district had been notified and would be sending grief counselors to our campus this week

There are other children in the family, and they were in school yesterday. I had heard that PTA was going to take a collection for them, so I stuck around on Monday (which is usually my day off and was when I'd planned to get started on those taxes). I found a group of sobbing PTA moms, clustered around the grieving mother -- who was trying to comfort them. Can you imagine?

She thanked everyone for their support, and made some promises to volunteer more for the group (!) then went off to work on the arrangements. She was so calm, so serene. The rest of us were basket cases. Still are.

The family is active at their church. The moms that were left concluded that their faith was a source of strength at this time, that their closeness was going to get them through this. Some of the women remarked that they didn't think their own marriages would survive the death of one of their children. We all agreed that we didn't want to even think about it. But of course, it has happened to one of our community, and we are thinking of nothing else.

This is not the only tragedy that has befallen someone at our school this year. A few months ago, the mother of one of our second-graders died of a brain aneurism. Three of the mothers at our school are dealing with various stages of cancer. I think about them and feel thankful that our family is healthy and happy and well. And then I wonder, for how long? Because the thing about good times is that they don't last.

This, of course, is dangerous thinking, because if you're always looking around the corner for the bad things that will inevitably come, you are in danger of missing all the good things you have right now.

At times like this, I've envied the religious, because I do think their faith gives them strength to deal with tragedy. I'm not built that way. When I was younger and searching for answers, I tried to have an open mind, but I'm just too much a part of this earth. I can't accept things on faith -- I question too much (which, our rabbi tells us, is a very Jewish thing to do). And I concluded that I was born into the right tradition for me, so I stopped worrying about it.

But it would be nice to believe that there is an afterlife, a reward for your suffering. And that no parents would outlive their children.

Comments

[Lorna]

That is so heart-wrenching! I sometimes wish for faith too, but I always end up telling myself not to accept it because it would be too easy. I don't know what I would draw on in a case like that.

[DrumsNWhistles]

Man, this is two weeks in a row that I've seen stories like this. Not knowing them doesn't make it any less difficult to imagine or stomach.

It makes me angry -- we have so many medical breakthroughs and then some evil random virus can come and consume some mother's son or father's daughter and that's it...it's done.

I do have faith, but it doesn't make me want to stop shaking my fist at God when I read about things like this. Faith gives me hope, and I'm grateful for that, but no less angry.

Hugs to you,

DnW

[shaunna]

What a horrific tragedy, Donna. (Does the evil virus have a name? My mind spins with that one.)

Take care.

[Kris]

Donna, my heart goes out to your community. Dealing with the death of a child is unimaginable. We lost a 13 year old in our community a couple of years ago. He had an enlarged heart that nobody knew about and one day he just didn't wake up. It was devistating.

I remember dealing with my kids at that time and it was really hard on them. The one knew the boy the best was afraid to go to sleep at night for fear that he would not wake up.

I, too, am not a religious, but I find strength in my family and friends. Hang in there.

[Lin]

The death of a child is always unnatural, always feels so very wrong and is always heartbreaking. It will take a while for all the parents and children who knew this little one and his family, even if only peripherally, to return to normal. And this event will be remembered by all of you forever. That's how shocking it is. So very sad.

[Stephanie]

Thoughts and prayers are going out to your community and school and the family right now. It's amazing how community comes together at times like this.......

[Mary]

My family has been hit by tragedy lately, too. My uncle was left blind from a car accident, my grandmother died, then an uncle by marriage died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of 54.

You really do have to live each day as if it were your last. However, nothing can ever prepare you for the loss of a child. I only hope that I do have some inner strength if I ever had to deal with something like that. It's a tough thing to contemplate, let alone have to deal with.

[Laurie]

So sad.

[ella]

I'm so sorry for the family and for everyone in your community struggling to come to terms with such heartbreak.

[Karie]

Donna, So sorry to hear about the tragedy. I know how involved you are in the school community and what a loss you all must feel. My prayers are with you and especially the parents of the child.