Remember Who They Were, Not How They Died

Another shooting.

Another tragedy.

Lives lost, families ripped apart, lives changed forever.

The quote that reverberates in my head is from the dad of one of the shooting victims, “We want people to remember who he was, not how he died.”

The cry of every bereaved parent’s heart.

No matter how our children leave for Heaven, what we want most is for folks to remember the light they were when they were here, impacting others, laughing, living and making a difference.

Dominic left in a tragic, could-have-been-avoided single vehicle motorcycle accident. I’m sure there are people who judge him, who judge me, who think that if it had been THEIR child, they wouldn’t have been going too fast in that curve.

It’s something I live with every single day.

But there’s nothing I can change about that night. There’s no way I can reach back across time and make things different.

So when you interact with a bereaved parent, please don’t focus on the illness or the addiction or the tragic circumstances that transported their child from time to eternity.

Ask them about who they were, what they liked, where they found the most joy in life.

Give them permission to share their life, love and light with you, not only their death.

Our children are so. much. more than how they left this life.

They are potential unrealized, lives lived, love spread to others.

Let us tell you about that.

Grief Triggers: Unanswered Phones

“After Florida shooting, phones rang unanswered where victims fell…”

That’s all it took to evoke wracking sobs.  

I already knew that seventeen lives had been lost in tragic violence but those words brought it home.

Because Dominic was killed in the wee hours of Saturday morning April 12, 2014 and had plans the next day with friends, his unanswered phone was the first clue for many of them that something was dreadfully wrong.

My poor surviving children were forced to field call after call, text after text:  “I was trying to reach Dom but he’s not answering his phone.  Is something wrong?”

Yes.

Yes. 

Something is most definitely, awfully, irrevocably wrong.

I still have that phone.  It’s still connected even though it’s laid silent for nearly four years.  

I can’t give it up.

I can’t bear the thought of someone else’s voice being on the other end of that number.  

It was probably the last thing he held in his hand.  

IMG_2637