I stand in the slightly cracked doorway of my son’s room, studying the sliver of his face illuminated by the dim light spilling in from the hallway. He’s 15, and just a year younger than the two teens who died earlier this morning. On the floor next to his bed is his cell phone, seemingly discarded, just below a dangling hand.
The one with the baseball scar on the knuckle.
It’s not until I notice the moisture glistening around his eyes, and see the tear edge hesitantly down his cheek, that I realize he’s only pretending to sleep
His phone buzzes and lights up momentarily as someone’s grief is expressed in a Tweet. I glimpse a screen that scrolls endlessly with disbelief. Outrage. Sadness and pain. Classmates, friends and family trying to comprehend the incomprehensible…
It began with my fire department pager buzzing and shrieking a little after 7 a.m., followed by the report of a motor vehicle accident 15 miles away. A car over an embankment. Possible entrapment. Five occupants; two unresponsive. The caller was one of the victims. All were students heading to school.
It’s a small town. In my five years as a volunteer firefighter, I’ve responded to many emergencies and fatalities involving a bloodied but still familiar face.
But not this many faces at once.
Not this young.
I move to the living room and sit on the couch, clutching the pager. Listening. Unsure if my inability to respond until after surgery next week is a blessing or curse. I want to help. I want to BE the familiar face that gets the remaining victims through. At the same time, I want to stay on the couch and never see what I know my engine company is seeing as it announces its arrival on-scene. I can hear it in my captain’s voice — the tone of forced sanity and calm; the desire to scream, tightly squelched by duty. There would be time to scream later.
“Two code greens. One code yellow,” a medic reports, then adds: “Two code blacks.”
Though I didn’t know who it was at the time, in that moment Abby Boydston and Weston Bowman are officially pronounced dead. Two kids I had written about in Wednesday’s sports section. Kids whose images were in a file on my desktop; photos I’d taken last week during football and volleyball games; smiling faces after hard-fought wins, celebrating with teammates and coaches.
Unknowingly for the last time…
As I stand in the doorway, I see my son reach down for his cell phone. The light from the screen reveals his glossy, puffy eyes. The door creaks as I open it and step into the room.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I just need to be alone.”
I say nothing and kneel next to his bed, wrapping my arms around him. He remains rigid except for the a slow, rhythmic sob that escapes despite of his best efforts.
I continue to hold him.
Silently.
After a few minutes, there is a muffled thud as his phone drops to the floor. I feel his arms slide over me, getting tighter. As we hold each other in the darkness, the repetitive chime of Twitter notifications is the only sound — until, gradually, it is overtaken by his sobbing.
Then mine.
I selfishly give thanks for still having all my children to hold.
And pray I never have to arrive within the flashing hues of red and blue and recognize any of their faces.
(Ned Hickson is a syndicated columnist with News Media Corporation. His first book, Humor at the Speed of Life, is available from Port Hole Publications, Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble.)
Ned's Blog 
Wow 😦 My thoughts are with their families, friends and your community, Ned..
Thank you so much for that.
So terrible! We are blessed to have people like you who do respond and are willing to be a strong shoulder when we need it. Prayers are being sent your way and to the families.
We’ll take them, grannyK — and thank you.
Prayers.
Thank you so much
There are no words of comfort here. My children have lost many friends, whereas I have not. All we can do is hold them tight, listen, be there for them. My heart goes out to you and your son Ned.
Our family has had its share of loss, but mostly with some amount of preparation. Though I’ve experienced sudden loss, it’s the first time for our children. As you said, there’s no “perfect” words of comfort —only open arms and love for them.
I’m not sure I have the words for this one, Ned.
Fir that matter, are there words that would be sufficient for this level of grief? As parents, we want to shield our children from the horrors of reality. We want them to be ignorant of the fragility of life.
But we can’t lock them away, can we?
They have to know pain to truly appreciate joy.
They have to cry to understand the value of laughter.
They have to face death to truly know what it means to live.
As a parent, all you can do is love your children. Sometimes that means remaining silent and just holding them until the pain subsides.
Be well, my friend.
All of that is so true, Robert. To shield them is to deny them what it means to live — even in the shadow of death. As you said, there are no words.
Sometimes there simply can’t be.
Thank you for your support, here and on your own blog, Robert. You’re definitely when of the good ones and I am privileged to call you a friend.
Likewise.
I can’t say,” No one is watching”………………because I am. Herzlichen Beileid.
Well done Ned. Sad day for many of us. Thanks for sharing.
Ned’s Blog wrote: > Ned’s Blog posted: ” I stand in the slightly cracked doorway of my > son’s room, studying the sliver of his face illuminated by the dim > light spilling in from the hallway. He’s 15, and just a year younger > than the two teens who died earlier this morning. On the floor next to h” >
Thanks, Rick. It’s the kind of tragedy that will carry in ripples through communities here.
Nice words Ned. I feel your pain and that of all your fellows
Thanks so much
It is heartbreaking to read, so I can scarcely imagine how devastating it is to live it. AlwaysARedhead is right: words can do so little to blunt a grief that must feel bottomless. But please know that I hold these families, you and your family, and everyone affected by this in my thoughts. (I also hope that this might be the one time when you don’t respond to all of our comments so that you can focus your attention where it is so sorely needed.)
Thank you so very much, Karen. And though I’m responding, it’s only after a weekend off the grid with family 😉
Sending love and prayers to you, your son, his friends, and the families of those lost. Shedding my own tears now, as well. You’ll all be in my thoughts.
I appreciate that — and you — so much, Marcia.
Thank You.
I’m so, so sorry to hear that. How tragic for those poor families. What a powerful post. A reminder to us all to be grateful for what we have. My teens will be getting extra hugs today.
I debated about posting it at all, and simply letting it remain in my drafts. I decided the message was important, and if inspired an extra hug and a moment of pause in our busy lives for our children, I know my decision to post it was the right one.
Thank you so much, Carrie.
I’m so sorry to read this piece, beautiful and heartbreaking that it was. Thank you for sharing it.
Thank You for reading, Joe, and for sharing your kind words.
I’m so sorry, Ned. Giving thanks for your child is not selfish at all. It’s our visceral response to do so. It makes me just want to run up to the school and grab mine, too.
I’m so sorry…unfortunately, I know how these things strike a close community. Sending prayers to your, your family and the families involved. I can’t even imagine…
Thank you so much, Michelle. You, your thoughtfulness and prayers are deeply appreciated.
Words aren’t enough, but it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t say them. I’m sorry this happened. My prayers are with their families and yours.
Thank you for saying them anyway, Anawni, and for your prayers. Your kindness is anything but “anonymous” here 😉
i am so painfully and utterly heartbroken after reading this. Loving the bright light that are our children is such a blessing. we forget how easy everything can change, how quickly. i pray that the gift of the lives these kids had, lives in the memories of those who knew and loved them and the single moment that ended it, is not what people focus on. Seeing your child in that much pain is brutal. You can’t protect them or shield them…the only thing you can do is share in their grief and let them know you love them. love them profoundly. your family, your community, are in my thoughts as i send love across the miles, from one parent to another.
From one parent to another, you and your loving thoughts are felt and truly appreciated.
Thank You
Reblogged this on William Karam Kassab.
I am so sorry. This is an incredibly poignant story. Tears welled up in my eyes at the memory of a similar loss close to my son which happened during his freshman year in college. A car accident claimed his first girlfriend. It still haunts me the first week of December.
Sending prayers.
What a terrible loss for your son, and for you, Susie. Thank you so much for your thoughts — mine will be with you as well come December.
I’m so sorry about this news in your community. Thinking about you.
Thank you so much.
Oh Ned. I’m crying as I write this. I am sorry for your pain, your son’s pain and all of the people in the community who will be affected. Our small town has recently suffered a loss of one taken too young as well. My arms reach out to hug you both. There is at least a bit of comfort knowing the community will mourn together and you will have each other for support. My thoughts and prayers are with you, my friend. xx
I’m so sorry you and your community had to experience something so tragic. And there is comfort in one another in a community this small. The pain is shared by everyone, which in a way helps all of us carry the burden of grief together.
Thanks so much for your thoughts and hugs across the miles, Susan.
commiserate yes. this is a post that however well intentioned and well meant the ‘like’ by others who have replied – I will never be able to ‘like’. could not be, should not be, yet sadly, very sadly is…..
Thank you in advance for not minimizing our support for a grieving friend. Sometimes there are simply no words.
Thank you so much, John. I know you are a caring and thoughtful person — and your words resonate.
Reblogged this on You've Been Hooked! and commented:
I feel like a hack beside this man. All kidding aside, you MUST read this.
Oh Ned, I am so sorry. My daughter had a friend suffer a traumatic brain injury in a crash a year ago next week and then two teens died in West Linn in a crash on Father’s Day. It’s terrifying. I feel for you and your boy and all those kids, the whole town.Just one different decision, a different turn makes all the difference. My heart goes to you and everyone in Florence. I just read that there have been 10 fatalities this year on that road. I could write a book on all my thoughts right now but won’t hijack your blog. Peace to all of you. xoxo maggie
While we can’t live day to day fearing our decisions, it’s so true that we never truly know how our decisions — or the decisions of others — can change everything in a momentary flash. I appreciate your thoughts and kindness.
And yes, 10 fatalities in one year does seem to be a red flag, doesn’t it?
We hold our children tight… they are too easily lost to tragedy. My heart goes out to all of your community touched by this loss.
Thank you so much for keeping us in your thoughts, Sue.
I’m so sorry.
One of the hardest nights of my life was spent in a funeral home full of teenagers grieving for one of our own.
Wishing peace and comfort for all.
It’s a circumstance we all hope never to be in, but can’t truly avoid when fate plays its hand. All we can do is be there for those we love and for each other.
I appreciate you being there.
My heart breaks for all of you Ned. For the family of these beautiful young people, their friends who will forever be changed by this tragedy & your community, who I am certain are all hugging their children & feeling the same sense of gratitude the you are with your son. Wishing you peace & healing time my friend.
Thank you, Lynn — truly.
I am so, so sorry for your son, your family, the families of the young folks involved and your community. It is never right for a parent to lose a child.
May God be with you, yours and your friends.You are in my prayers everyday.
-Jim H.
Thank you for your kind words and prayers, Jim.
You are appreciated — every day.
I’m so sorry, Ned. I can’t even imagine…
Thank you, Scott.
And hopefully imagine is all you’ll ever have to do.
It is doubly hard to see our children hurting and not be able to do anything about it. Last week I did the same thing. I held my son and daughter in law in my arms as they sobbed at the loss of their premmie baby (my granddaughter).
It’s never easy losing someone so young. My children have lost school friends in the same way as your son but they recover. It hurts for a long time but they come through it.
You are a wonderful father and I’m sure you will be there for those who need you every step of the way.
Ned, my condolences to you and your family. You have my support, love and empathy.
And hugs. Lots and lots of hugs.
I am so very sorry to hear about the loss of your granddaughter, Suz. It seems so unfair, and I know it’s a void that will never truly be filled. All you can do is hold each other close and love your way through the pain.
Thank you for your love and support — and we are sending ours to you and your family as well.
❤ ❤
An all too familiar occurrence in that age group. It pains my heart for all concerned. Moonstruck
Just kids on their way to breakfast at a diner before school. Wet leaves. Slick pavement. Combined with fate.
I appreciate your thoughts, and for sharing the pain, Moonstruck.
I am sorry for the pain flowing through your community today, Ned. A hug through the web for you and your son. What you shared through that tragedy is one of life’s awful, wounding bonds.
Thank you for keeping us in your thoughts, Mark.
Amen
Amen, brother.
Reading these types of articles does make you want to track down, and hug your children/ grandchildren. How heartbreaking to read of the demise of these young souls and the scars left behind. I offer my deepest, most heartfelt condolences for the families of these young adults.
Thank you so much, Marcia.
Now go hunt down and hugs those kids…
I am moved by this post, and I don’t even know you, I followed Hook’s reblog… I am so sorry…
Thank you so much, PsiFi.
Ned… I have no words. I can’t even begin to imagine the grief you and your family and community feel right now. As a firefighter, I am sure you have seen many sad things but it is so much harder when they are young. We have no guarantee of tomorrow. My heart goes out to your son and you are such an awesome, incredible man to allow him to cry and show his grief in your arms. We should all give our loved ones an extra squeeze and tell them we love them as often as we can! ❤ {{{HUGS}}}
Sometimes there are no words, Courtney — but yours are truly appreciated and felt.
Thank you so much
🙂
Ahhh, this sucks so bad–any time a life is taken too early, especially kids. And ain’t it funny, sometimes, how you know, or think you know, when to leave your kids alone when they say they want to be alone, and when you just need to be there for them and let them know you care, usually without having to say anything.
So true.
Often it’s the wordless moments that have the most meaning.
I’m so sorry for the families of these children and for the community that knows them. I’ll keep you all in my prayers.
Thank you so much for keeping us, and especially the families who have experienced such a tragic loss, in your prayers.
You can write funny anytime. You could only have had that hug today.
So very true, Melanie.
So very true…
This post is heart-breaking. Those poor kids and their families. Just horrible.
There is no easy answer for a tragedy like this; only the love expressed by those who pose the question of “why?”
Thank you, Ned for writing of those young men, for their families and friend, so they can see how much their grief is understood and shared. I send them, and your family, the deepest of sympathies and love.
And, thank you for being the dad that you are, and allowing for me to show another example of how to be a good one for my own son, at even the worst of times.
Thank YOU, Robyn, for the kind words and continued support as a blogger and friend.
I have gooseflesh sitting here reading this and thinking of my own 15-year-old here and how he would respond to that situation (I can’t even consider him being one of the kids in that car!). I feel for you all there today. Thank you for all that you do for the families who aren’t as lucky as ours.
Hopefully your child will never have to know anything other than the love you share in an extra hug.
I’m so so sorry to hear about this. It is a parent’s worst nightmare. How can you not hold your son a little closer and tighter? It sure puts things in perspective. We can never take anything for granted.
As tragic is it is, it’s this kind circumstance that reminds us to stay away from the tunnel vision we can develop in our lives. Nothing is more important than those who we love; and nothing is as quickly taken from us.
Oh dear…I’m so sorry for your loss, your son’s pain and for the community there. There’s never an appropriate thing to say in these moments, giving that hug was the best Dad thing ever. I wish for peace and love for your community and both of your families, the one at home and the one at the firehouse. What they had to endure, I can’t come close to imagining.
Thank you for your kind words and thoughtfulness, Diana. Your heartfelt wishes are deeply appreciated.
These children have been robbed, as have their parents. What a sad, sad day. Breaks my heart to hear of another road fatality. Prayers to the families.
Thank you so very much for your prayers.
❤ ❤ ❤
I cried my way through this. I can’t even imagine. I’m sorry to you and all for the losses.
Don’t imagine — just give extra hugs.
For sure.
Thank you so much for writing this, and helping to immortalize those children. They deserve nothing less than this beautifully written story.
I appreciate your words more than I can say, Samara.
Tears rolling down. Snot rolling down. I am so very sorry for the loss of your town, your son, those kids’ families and friends.
When it came time to identify my dead mother’s body, the woman at the mortuary said that she knew Mom well enough to ID her for me. I accepted her offer, as I didn’t want to have that image in my mind for the rest of my life. God bless you first responders who deal with whatever comes your way, no matter what, and live with all of those images and memories.
There’s a part of us that feels the need to be there so that others don’t have to experience — or remember.
Thank you so much for your kind words, and for sharing in our grief.
godpseed to those children that passed and to those remaining. thank you for sharing such a heartbreaking yet beautiful post of having the opportunity to love and comfort your son.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read, for sharing in our pain, and for your thoughtfulness.
I am so deeply sorry, Ned. My prayers and thoughts to everyone.
My son’s friend died this summer from a tragic bike accident, he was only 12 years old. I’m still trying to process it. It’s crushed our entire community. In honor of him I make sure to keep holding on to my kids and loving them every day I get a chance.
If there is anything good that comes from a tragedy like these, it’s that our children and loved ones get held a little more tightly — and a little more often.
My heart breaks for your son, your family, your community and of course, you, my friend. Know that my arms are wrapped around all of you as well.
Your kindness and friendship id deeply appreciated, Randall. Always.