Yesterday afternoon I received the horrible news that the 16 year old son of a friend was terribly injured in a car accident.  It was the kind of memory I’ll never forget; it’s etched in my mind’s eye like a videotape playing in slow motion, the moment that I heard that news. 

The nurses said they couldn’t understand how someone with vital signs so low could stay alive.  He was unconscious from the time the accident occurred, but something deeper in him kept him holding on for a day and a half until his brothers and sisters could all be there to say goodbye.   He died at 1 am, right after they left the room, before they even reached the elevator.

He was my 15 year old son’s first friend when we moved here 6 years ago, and for the first three years we were here, was his closest friend.  They grew apart when we moved to a different neighborhood, but they continued to have warm feelings towards one another.

His older sister was our babysitter, very much beloved by all my kids.  His younger sister is a good friend of my 13 year old daughter (the boys introduced them).  His 8 year old brother is a good friend of my 9 year old.  And his mother is a friend of mine.  But it all started with their friendship.

We’ve celebrated the births and bar/bas mitzvas of each other’s children, hosted each other for holiday meals, and today we were there as they buried their oldest son.  There were hundreds of people who came for the eulogies – this was a shocking communal tragedy (it wasn’t a simple accident) and many people who didn’t know them came to share their pain and pay their respects.  We (me and my 15 yo son and 13 yo daughter) continued on to the cemetary after the service.  It was a very difficult funeral.  Many of the people there were teenagers who were his peer group, and it was emotional and heartrending.  His closest friends were chosen to carry the coffin; a third of them were boys in my carpool.  I can’t tell you how painful it was to watch them placing him in the ground and to see their faces.

 About an hour after we returned from the cemetary, I went to their home to be with his mother.  We sat together for over an hour as we talked.  I have so very many thoughts on many aspects of this tragedy; I’m worn out and raw with emotion. But one thing that was striking to me how much comfort there is to a parent in the small things they did for their child.   The small things that showed how much they cared about him, supported him, and loved him.  For example, they bought him an electric guitar just a few weeks before that he was very excited about.  What a gift that was, that they know they expressed their love for him in a way that he really felt it.

Hug your children, and make sure they always know how much you love them – even if they get older and go through things that make them harder to love.   

Avivah