The Ultimate Choice

I doubt you've ever had to decide whether or not to hate your precious son, whether to banish him from your family, from your heart, from your love.

That decision was one I was forced to make two years ago when my two sons were in an automobile accident. One survived. One didn't. The surviving son was the driver of the car, my youngest child, 20-years old. He had been drinking. His brother, age 22, died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He, too, had been drinking.

After the funeral, I was totally involved with helping my surviving son recover from his massive injuries, both physical and emotional. We treated wounds, exercised weak limbs, but the most difficult healing was between the two of us trying to decide how we felt about the whole disaster and how we felt about each other as a result of it.

He wasn't sure I still loved him. He didn't know if I blamed him for his brother's demise. He wanted me to hate him, yet he needed me to love him still. He blamed himself, wished more injuries, or death, upon himself. He missed his brother beyond description. He grieved beyond words. He grieves still.

I tried to hate him. After all, he was drinking and driving, something I had discussed with them at length. Why didn't he remember? Sometimes, I think it's good that he misses his brother so much. A hard lesson, but one learned the hard way. Other times, I think it might have been easier for him if he had joined his brother, because he's in a living hell with this guilt.

Many times I told him that I believed it was an accident. Yes, they made a bad decision to get in the car after drinking, but everyone is entitled to one big mistake, right? He didn't intentionally set out to kill his brother. Then, there are times when I think to myself that he IS to blame, he is the one who chose to drive, he is the one who lost control of the car, he is the reason for all my grief and pain. But, he's my son, my sweet boy who almost died, too. How would I feel today if both of them had died? Would it have been easier not to have to wonder forever if I should cast him away from me?

These two boys were not your ordinary brothers. They shared a room, shared friends, shared cars, and shared music. They never fought. They talked for hours into the night. They planned their lives to include each other. They dreamed of being rock-stars together in a band. They didn't compete. They didn't argue. They were best friends. Would it have seemed more fitting if they had died together?

So, back to having to decide whether to hate my son, naturally, I chose to love him. He is a victim of having grown up without a father, of having an absent mother who worked late hours after their father passed away. He is a product of my lack of discipline, my over-compensating love and leniency. He is a young guy who made a bad decision.

They both got into that car after drinking. They were in it together as they were in everything they did.

My sweet boys went out into the night, thinking they had it all under control, thinking they would wake up tomorrow and go play their guitars together, and find an apartment together, and spend the rest of their lives doing things together. They thought that night was just the beginning.

That beginning turned out to be end of life as we knew it.

During the funeral, my oldest son stepped up to be our strength. He displayed compassion I have never felt from anyone in my life. I was amazed that someone of such fortitude and discipline had sprung from my womb. I suppose we are given what we need for the times when we need it. I was given this son to help me deal with my emotions about my other two sons. He was all I needed him to be. He was all he needed himself to be. He was who he is, and he was awesome.

No, I don't hate my surviving son for that horrible night.

My deceased son would tell me, "It's all good. Peace out, Mom."

So, I'll peace out. There's nothing I can do to change this. I've begged and pleaded and bargained with God for two years, and guess what? My son is still dead. That's it. I have no choice, and he had no choice. It's a done deal.

The next thing I can do is try to be the best grandmother his two-year-old son ever hoped for and maybe in some small way, my departed son will know I'm doing what I can for him to compensate for the night when I couldn't do anything at all.