Making it Through Year One

It's hard to believe it, but it's been a year since Kyle and Prentice died in that terrible car accident. While Craig and I made it through the first year, and we each went off on separate trips to commemorate the passage of this difficult year of mourning, I've been struggling to make sense of it. Today is the first day of Passover --or rather the eve of the first day. It's later than last year. On March 30, 2010, we had a passover seder at our house, with Craig's brother Gary, his wife, Gayle, and their two children, Jeremy and Carlyn. Since then, so much has happened. Our lives were instantly altered by the death of our son, his lovely friend and our sweet neighbor, Prentice, and we spent the year in a state of shock and horror. On March 27th, we unveiled the headstone where Kyle is buried, a Jewish cemetary in Colma, CA, and we were surrounded by loved ones who stood by us as we marked the ground were he lay. Only days later, Niko (our younger son) and I went to Hawaii for a week (the Big Island) to give ourselves an opportunity to run away when that fateful anniversary rolled around, and more importantly, to give Niko an opportunity for some fun and relaxation, while Craig headed off to Israel and Palestine to take the trip that Kyle very much wanted to take. The trip was organized by Hasmig Minassian, Kyle's history teacher, and was supported and sustained through the love and vision of many of Kyle's friends and parents of those friends. Craig's been home a week, and I think it's challenging to integrate back into this life; he's full of the recognition that the intensity and love of being in an intense and meaningful place (emotionally, culturally, politically, etc.) that connects him to Kyle, is harder here. We have lives, jobs, the empty place that his death left behind. It's already hard for me too. Hawaii was intense in a different way--full of life and vibrancy, and I so enjoyed sharing the beauty of such a warm, welcoming place with my son.

Today is passover. A year ago (although actually the night before Kyle died) we were celebrating passover in our house. It was our first passover seder in years that we hosted. I wanted it to be special for Kyle. I knew that soon he would be leaving on the adventure of his life--either Israel or I had hoped, college, and that we had to make the most of his time with us. Only weeks before I'd taken him out to dinner and tried to bridge some of the tensions we'd had in those teenage years. We talked about his plan to go to Israel, and the possible scenario he'd proposed to join the army there. I was uneasy with the idea of him joining an army (what mother wouldn't be?), let alone a foreign army. I tried in the best way I could to talk to him about human rights. I also wanted him to know on that March 30, passover, that I understood the importance of Judaism to him, even I did not share a complete understanding of it. I am not religious, and I don't think I ever will be. I also wanted to show him that as someone who has had to stretch and deal with so many challenges as a stepparent, who was, to a great extent taxed by his parents difficult relationship, that I could see him, in all his complexity. That night, that passover night, I took my camera out to take pictures, but for some reason, didn't use it. The next night, March 31st, we discovered he was dead. How could such a terrible thing happen to two young people? How would we go on?

Tonight's passover seder, will remind me of him. The son that was not spared. I don't believe in God but ask the question, why this boy? Why PJ? Why did we have to endure such a terrible fate as parents?
My grief has been complicated by the nature of step-parenting, of course. It was always a challenge to figure out where I stood in the familial order. And I struggle with it still in his death. He was my son too. He lived with me. I worried about him, cared for him, struggled with him as any parent does with a teenage boy? And I wanted his safety, happiness, well-being. I could see and observe things. And yet, I could not affect the outcome. I have lived with that this whole year.

I think of resilience. I think of those who survive terrible things. Parents who lose children in war, who lose children to brutal violence, to suicide. There is no comparing this to any other pain. I will think of him tonight. I will think of Kyle and remember the way we said, "next year in Jerusalem," then. I will think of Craig who was in Jerusalem nearly ten days ago marking the memory of Kyle in the Western Walls. I will think of the hole in the sand that his CAS classmates dug and left a little of Kyle there on the Tel Aviv beach. I will think of the ways that they were touched by learning about this place that loomed large in Kyle's mind--Israel, and yes, it's other half, Palestine. I will go there too. I will pay my respects to Kyle's memory and his dream, and I will look for resilience everywhere. I will look for peace. And I will say, "this year in Jerusalem."

I will always love you, Kyle.