Insurance, Guarantees, and Promises
A Gene Weingarten piece, published in The Washington Post Magazine in early March, was mentioned. **Let me just say here that I am not going to comment on the article itself. If you want to read it, it's linked here. Just know that it is very difficult to read.** The article, "Fatal Distraction," focused on the aftermath of parents who lost a child after forgetting them in a hot car. All the parents at the party had either read the article or knew of it. Some expressed that they weren’t able to look at it because of the subject matter.
I’d heard this sentiment several times when heart-wrenching incidents involving children are discussed among parents:
“I can’t even imagine.”
“I don’t want to think about it.”
“It’s too painful for me to consider.”
Since becoming a mother myself, I also have a tough time seeing articles that report the details of children suffering. It hits too close to home to imagine, think about or consider since I have three beautiful babies of my own.
In the case of the Weingarten piece, I made myself read every single word despite the brutal imagery and its effect on me. I cringed, whimpered out loud and wept a river of tears. I had to put it down several times. The Husband asked me to cease reading and threatened to hide the magazine. But I was determined to finish.
Why? For the past two weeks, I’ve been mulling over exactly what compelled me to finish the piece, despite details that will never be erased from my memory. I read it for the children and parents in the article; for each youngster who perished, and for each parent whose torment and anguish will be their own personal hell for the rest of his/her life. I read it to memorialize the children. I read it to see if I identified with the parents, and I absolutely did. They are in my thoughts and prayers as I realize there but for the grace of God go I.
As the two weeks have passed, I still cannot put it out of my mind. I am slowly beginning to recognize the deeper reason why I made myself finish the article. I did it for myself. I realize I was hoping that somehow I would have an assurance that I’ll never forget my own baby in a hot car if I read it through. I would like to think that it is something I wouldn’t do anyway…but after finishing the article, I acknowledge it could happen to anyone. Selfishly, I hope reading every painful word and feeling the emotions as closely as possible without it being reality in my own life will somehow give me a pass. I want a little guarantee—insurance, if you will—that it won't ever happen to me. How I wish I could have a full promise.
Original DC Metro Moms post.
Michelle blogs at Wife and Mommy.
