“Some people think only intellect counts: knowing how to solve problems, knowing how to get by, knowing how to identify an advantage and seize it. But the functions of intellect are insufficient without courage, love, friendship, compassion and empathy.”
– Dean Koontz

When I decided to write this post, I looked for a quote that would help me to express what I wanted to say. I expected to find the words of a great philosopher or religious leader; but these from novelist Dean Koontz were the ones that rang true.

Thirty years ago today, I sent my two sons out to play with their friends, not knowing that by the end of the day only one would return. Brett was one month shy of his seventh birthday when he ran in front of a car and changed all of our lives forever. How can it be that thirty years have passed? If I close my eyes, I can easily transport myself to February 9, 1980. I can remember the raw emotion that nearly tore me in half. I can remember the days and months that followed when I truly believed that I would die of grief.

I’m not here today to recount the terrible journey that ultimately led to my own healing and decision to once again love and embrace life. My journey and yours may be very different; and I know too well that when we’re in the midst of our grieving, nothing that anyone else has felt or done or experienced seems relevant. Instead, I would like to honor my son’s memory by telling you about the courage, love, compassion and empathy that eased the pain and let me find my way back to the land of the living.

I won’t name names, and space does not permit the retelling of every kindness that came my way, but I will list a few:

– The older friends who came to our home and just sat with us, not trying to tell us how to feel, until my parents arrived in town.

– The friends who extended their love and compassion to the driver of the car, so that she could attend the funeral and not feel judged

– The pastor who stood strong and courageous in the face of my rage at the unfairness of the universe

– The children, who in their innocence ended up being the ones I remember with their arms around me on either side at the burial

– The friend who remembered, every year for years to come, to call me on February 9th just to say hello

The list goes on and on, and I’m here today to tell you that not a single, tiny act of compassion surrounding the death of my son has ever left my memory.  It is the courage, the love, the friendship, the compassion, and the empathy of ordinary people just like you and me that collectively can make the difference between being forever lost in grief or finding our way back to embracing life and honoring the memory of the child who left too soon.

I remember you today, Brett — the joy you brought to my life and the pain of having that joy turned inside out.  I hear your laughter and remember the mornings when you would wake me early so I could play a song for you to sing before you left for school.  I see your brother and the way that he has grown in compassion for others as he healed from the loss of his very best friend.

If you are grieving today, I want you to know that things really will get better.  If you know someone who is grieving today, I hope you will hear me when I say that no kindness is too small.  Be courageous and loving and compassionate, and let your spirit soar!