Memorial Day. Or Decoration Day if you're from the South. A day when almost everybody loves soldiers. The day is filled with flags, and parades, and remembrances, and eloquent verbal salutes to those who gave their lives in service to their country, the great US of A.
My son's grandfather died in Korea, so I think of Harold and his sacrifice on Memorial Day. Age 26. Killed in action. Left two little babies, age 9 months (my husband) and 20 months (his sister).
The whole country honors Harold and all the others who died in uniform. A sea of white tombstones covers Arlington, where Harold is buried. I have a wonderful photo of my kids taken at Harold's tombstone at Arlington. They flanked the white monument. They both looked appropriately sad, even though Harold to them was only a family story, and a photograph.
Harold was a hero. He died in the service of his country.
But what else do I know about Harold's death?
The anguish of his mother, my husband's grandmother. She was a "Gold Star Mother" -- honored because her child (in this case, her only child) died in combat. But she was at her core a grieving mother who, as she wrote when she sent me pictures of her at the same tombstone where I took my kids, "never got over losing him."
Her grief was real and lasted her entire life. The grief of every parent who loses a child is real. But Mary (Harold's mother) had something else: societal support of her loss. Her son died a hero! He was serving his country! God bless our troops! You are a Gold Star Mother!
For those of us who have lost our sons or daughters in circumstances not so noble, we are not so lucky. There is no Gold Star for grieving parents whose kids happened to have been killed in gang violence, or in a traffic accident, or by drug overdose, or by disease.
BUT: that doesn't mean we are all lumped together. Oh no, far from it. You see, there is a hierarchy of death. The human mind can't help but "rank" every aspect of existence (where you live, who you marry, what car you drive, what your job/career is, etc.) Death is no different.
So if it is your fate to suffer the loss of a child, I hope your child is in the military. The parent of a soldier who died in service (even if friendly fire) ranks at the top of the hierarchy of death. That parent will have no shortage of support and comfort from friends, family and even total strangers.
For the rest of us, we scramble. Or we are silent. Or we ignore the true cause of death so as not to be judged. But every one of us who has lost a child understands the competition to show our child's death as more worthy of sympathy and support than another child's death.
Why is it not enough to simply say your precious and beautiful child died?
But it isn't. The world doesn't work that way. Inquiring minds want to know. What happened? How did this child die???? And thereafter, let the judgment begin.
Parental competition is not confined to what college your child is in, or what career he or she has chosen. Even in death, parents want to show their kids are more worthy, that they are on top of the "competition."
From what I have seen, parents fare better with public support if their child died as a result of something totally and completely out of their control -- such as a horrible disease (cancer, leukemia) or an accident where "the other guy" or some unforeseen force was at fault.
You lose sympathy points if your child was at fault for the accident that claimed his or her life. You definitely go to the bottom of the sympathy list if your child died while under the influence of something or if he or she suffered from mental illness.
You have some social support if your child died due to any kind of gun violence (again, assuming the child was not a willing participant in the violence). This means the non-gang member killed by gang violence, or the victims of lone shooters like the young man who went on a rampage in Santa Barbara in 2014. My heart broke when I saw the Richard Martinez, the father of the 20 year old young man who was one of the victims. The dad has since given up his career as a lawyer in order to advocate for gun violence. Wow, does he get all kinds of support and affirmation. Of course it can't heal the loss, or repair the hole ripped in his psyche from the loss of his only child, but it has to help to know that Christopher's death was at least on the level of a noble one -- an innocent young man who was the victim of random gun violence. Mr. Martinez now has a cause he can use to channel his grief and try to bring some "good" out of the "awful."
Notice how so little is said of the shooter, Elliot, a young man of privilege who was plagued by mental illness. No noble death there. Yet I have no doubt his parents grieve as much as Mr. Martinez. But they rank lower on the hierarchy because their son was "at fault."
And by the way, how many folks caught that Mr. Martinez reached out to Mr. Rodger, Elliot's dad? That was perhaps the most positive news story to come out of the tragedy. They are both grieving fathers who lost sons. When you have been forced into the reality of "grieving parent" sometimes it just doesn't matter how each of you arrived there.
What of the parents who must suffer through the knowledge that their child committed suicide? Who comes forward to publicize that? Oh no, says society, suicide is shameful. Others say, What did the parents do wrong? Why did they not get their child help? Maybe they were bad parents and this was the child's cry for help that they didn't pay attention to? Maybe karma came back to bite them hard! Maybe somewhere somehow they caused this!
No, of course no one says that to their face. But it's there.
And what of the parents who suffer when their child dies from a drug overdose? No one steps up to offer support for that. Drug addict. Overdosed. Of course. What else would you expect? They just didn't raise that child correctly, else he/she would not have turned to drugs. Why didn't they get their child the right kind of help? Why didn't those parents do something to keep the child away from drugs?
Oh, the cruel and hateful and ignorant concepts that people have. And that they project, even if they never utter a word to the grieving parent.
It is far nobler to be the parent of a deceased child if the death was due to a "better" and more acceptable reasons. If your child can't be a soldier, at least be a cancer victim, or a victim of a stupid driver's negligence or random violence. Lots of support there.
For everyone else, oh, well, they say, we are so sorry for your loss. Now let's not talk about it ever again because we all know the kid either had it coming, or brought it on him/herself, or it was inevitable.
Do I have a ranking for what's the worse type of death, in terms of getting any kind of support or affirmation? No, I don't. Each of us carries our own level of judgment. To some, suicide is the worse. Others, stupid tricks like trying to skateboard between two buildings (actually happened). Still others, drug overdoses are at the bottom. In all cases, unless there was a nobility to the death, the grieving parent(s) is usually just not spoken to (see prior blog, "It's Not Contagious.")
Bottom line: it doesn't matter one bit how one's kid died. HE OR SHE DIED. That is all that matters. For you fortunate enough to have never experienced this soul-crushing pain of losing a child, please be supportive of anyone you know who has suffered the loss. It DOES NOT MATTER how the child died. Don't ask the question. If the person wants you to know, they will tell you. If not, let it go.
Just let it go.
My wish is that Memorial Day continues to remind us to celebrate and honor our fallen soldiers, but to also remind us that many children have been taken from their parents under all kinds of circumstances. They all grieve. They all deserve support and love for the loss of that child. We whose children were not soldiers don't get to hang flags and hold parades for our children. Yet our children still lost the battle of life and our grief is just as great as any parent.
We should mourn all our children who left us too soon. Mourn without judgment. Mourn in equal measure. No matter how they were taken from us.
Copyright 2015
