Loss, Tragedy, and Retaining our Humanity

A close friend of mine, S, was in a severe car accident recently. She was with her housemate, E, who was driving in a hurry to meet someone. On the way there they struck three other cars that were stopped at a red light. The four people in the vehicle they directly crashed into died, and a few others were injured. A blood test later found that he was under the influence of alcohol and other illicit substances.

I was relieved to hear that she was safe and alive, but also angry and sad and in search of someone to blame. She knew this would be the case and patiently held the weight of my grievances. When I finished she calmly stated that she understood my frustration, then reminded me that there are many sides to a story. E was an outstanding person she said, a wild beast contained in a small body, a free spirit who burned like a flame fueled by inexhaustible embers.

He played music for her when she wanted to dance by herself in the kitchen. He cooked for her and spiced up her cooking when she wasn’t looking. He mourned with her when her dear grandmother passed away. He led nature exploration and conversation projects, spearheaded caving, canyoning, and climbing schools, and conducted environmental research. He savored every moment and made her a better person. The woman he loved, Rosalie, came to the house after hearing about the accident and cried herself to sleep in his empty bed. “E, je suis avec toi,” the note she left him read.

S mentioned these things not to rectify E or to justify his actions, but to emphasize the fact that even the best of us make poor decisions, that this could have been any one of us behind the wheel. She felt the deep pain of the people implicated in this tragedy, and also the shame and guilt that E would have to live with for the rest of his life. “Every gift has its shadow” she often said to me. The flame that fueled E was also the light that blindsided him.

It’s difficult for me to hold these seeming contradictions in mind: that a man who killed four others and could have killed my close friend is still good and worthy of forgiveness. S knows it’s possible though. She and many others have been the recipient of his care and goodness, and there are numerous stories of parents who, in time, forgive the murderer of their children. In time they find meaning, not as a way to turn from the truth, but as a salve that allows them to live with the messiness of their new reality. There will of course be those who cannot forgive him, who will demonize him, who will see only one side of the story. I understand and don’t blame them, as I’m sure E would too. It is likely that he will spend years in jail with the burden and meaning of his continued existence, while the friends and family members of those he killed must learn how to live on. Accountability, due process, rage, and grief are appropriate and necessary, but we mustn’t lose sight of our humanity and love in the process. Already so much has been lost.