I cannot begin to imagine what it is like to lose a child through violence. Gloria Clark shares her experience below.
Plus go here for Gloria's very powerful poem, When Will the Killing End?
Darian’s
Story
When
my youngest son, Darian, was shot and killed on the early morning of
July 1, 2000, my world as I had known it was drastically and forever
changed. I went in a very deep depression and decided that life was
now much too difficult for me to deal with and this world was no
longer a place I wanted to live in. When I left the emergency room
of the Medical Center early that morning, as well as leaving my
precious son’s body there, I also left as an entirely different
person. My outlook on life was transformed to a person I did not
want to be.
Prior
to my son’s death, I considered myself to be the
happy, religious, God-fearing person my parents had taught me to be,
but I suddenly became an angry, desperate person looking for answers.
I was confused because I never imagined the God that I knew would
inflict such pain on me. He
had deserted me and I was angry!! My thoughts were not healthy
thoughts; they were not Christian thoughts. I left that place having
little or no interest in living. I felt down and depressed and
hopeless, and the list goes on.
The
Sunday mornings that I used to spend in Church became the Sunday
mornings that I would just lie
in bed feeling sorry for myself and being angry at God. I asked him
many questions, but never received an answer. God, why did you let
this happen to my son? Why did you inflict such pain on this family?
How do you expect me to get through another day without seeing my
son’s face ever again? Why, why, why??
I
have always had the support, of course, of my large, Christian family
who were always there for moral and emotional support.
One
day after my son’s funeral, while going through one of my many
mental breakdowns, asking "Why me?", my nephew, Mike,
without resentment and so matter-of-factly, just asked me one
question. "Aunt Glo, why not you?”
Those
few words made me stop and wonder and think about what he had asked
me. Why not me? Who am I? Am I so very special that I cannot be
touched by pain? If He
brings you to it, He
will bring you through it! My faith was being tested.
Shortly
after Darian was laid to rest, he
came to me in a dream, and I could see his handsome face so very
clearly as he said to me, "Mom, I can't stay. I have to go
back". I believe that those few words were the turning point of
my
realizing
that he was at peace and that God
had
never forsaken me at all.
When
I went to view my baby's body for the first time, I did not fall
apart because it was Him
holding me up. When I walked down that long isle at the Church
services to bid a last goodbye to my son, I did not fall apart
because it was Him
holding me up. When at the grave site where my boy would be placed
and I would never see him again, I did not fall apart because it was
Him
holding me up. The one set of footprints was never mine but His,
holding me up.
My
son’s daughter, who was only three
years old at the time of his death, is now a professional woman with
a baby boy of her own. I know he would be so proud of his baby girl.
It is milestone moments like this that make me miss him the most, but
God gave me a huge piece of him (my precious granddaughter) before
taking him away from me, and my
son
will remain in my heart forever.
Rest
in peace, my baby boy! I love you eternally!
Go here for more from the Blogging Carnival for Nonviolence 2022.
