on tragedy

S. says that every family has one big tragedy that becomes the hinge they turn on, and ultimately defines their paradigm. For some, it is parents that divorce at an early age, for others it is a financial crisis or a relative with a chronic illness.

Our long-time family friends once carried the burden of a child born with severe brain and liver damage. In his childhood, their lives were inescapably anchored around him. They couldn't go to restaurants except for the nearby fast food joint, where the staff had grown to tolerate their son's quirks and tantrums. They couldn't leave him alone with a babysitter because a medical emergency could arise at any moment. And so, they endured, living half at home and half at the specialists' office, doing their best to raise their second, healthy child, in the wake of their first. They became adept at predicting his outbursts and proactively creating a human straitjacket to prevent him from hurting other people than themselves. They steeled themselves with any inspiration they could find, and when the friends stopped calling (which is always inevitable), they found solace in each other.

And then, suddenly, at age 12, he died. I can only imagine the mixture of feelings they must have felt. Sadness, guilt, relief, and that feeling of exhaustion that only comes when you know that your trials are over, and you can, for once, relax. Who can tell you how you should feel when your family tragedy is over? Maybe, it is the one thing that can go un-judged.