I move the blog today from lisawysocky.blogspot.com to this location. Colby deserves his own space. Each of the moved blogs has the original posting date and time in its title. And I move the original comments on each of the blogs as best I can. I also work on getting the new website at ColbyKeegan.info up. It may be a few days on that yet. But when it is up, it will be a place where people can learn more about Colby and also post their own stories about Colby for all to read. Colby's friends have told me so many stories, now they, and I, will have a forum, so all who knew him can read, remember, share, and heal.
I am busy here in Houston and that is a blessing. I find myself ancy and easily distracted. It's hard to sit still and listen to even the most learned people here at the conference. I mean no disrespect, but several times I had to leave their lectures. It's like I suddenly developed a severe case of Attention Deficit Disorder. Most people here are unaware of Colby's passing. I will mention it at the beginning of my presentation tomorrow. While not many here knew him, most knew of him, and of my deep love for him.
Tonight I am tired and sad. I got through the day better then the few days before but I know tomorrow will be hard. So far, each morning I count the days since Colby died. Tomorrow I begin counting weeks. Tomorrow my mother shares the saddest news a grandmother can share with her friends. Tomorrow it will be one week since my reason for living died.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Prayers, July 31, 2009, 9:31 a.m.
My prayers are answered and I awake from a fitful sleep numb. How long does this process go on? I need to eat. I find a local Kroger and stock up my hotel fridge. But I still can’t swallow. With a plastic spoon and a hotel cup I mix a thin homemade shake from some soy milk, yogurt and water. Maybe I need to see a doctor or a counselor or something.
Staying physically busy helps. I unload my books and display racks from my truck and wheel them into the conference area. Set-up is not until noon. I find myself talking to Colby. Is that unnatural? Am I losing it? I so miss our conversations. We usually talked several times a day and when I go out of town he called more often. I miss that. I miss him. I realize I am not the only person who has ever lost a child and want to connect with a support group of bereaved parents. I’d like to help them as much as I know they will help me.
I’m worried about my Mom again, too. Two weeks ago she, Colby and I sat in her box next to her friends at Canterbury Park in Minnesota and watched the horses race. Colby loved Canterbury and began going there when he was three. It’s a family-friendly place and the people there have watched him grow up over the years. Now my mother has to tell these wonderful people who have been so supportive of and interested in Colby that he has died. Just as I felt like I shouldn’t come to speak at this conference in Houston, Mom felt like she shouldn’t go to Canterbury. But that’s so not what Colby would have wanted. He would have been appalled that anything to do with him would interfere with anyone else’s plans. So tomorrow she will go, armed with a big box of Kleenex. I pray her friends surround her with love, just as mine have.
Staying physically busy helps. I unload my books and display racks from my truck and wheel them into the conference area. Set-up is not until noon. I find myself talking to Colby. Is that unnatural? Am I losing it? I so miss our conversations. We usually talked several times a day and when I go out of town he called more often. I miss that. I miss him. I realize I am not the only person who has ever lost a child and want to connect with a support group of bereaved parents. I’d like to help them as much as I know they will help me.
I’m worried about my Mom again, too. Two weeks ago she, Colby and I sat in her box next to her friends at Canterbury Park in Minnesota and watched the horses race. Colby loved Canterbury and began going there when he was three. It’s a family-friendly place and the people there have watched him grow up over the years. Now my mother has to tell these wonderful people who have been so supportive of and interested in Colby that he has died. Just as I felt like I shouldn’t come to speak at this conference in Houston, Mom felt like she shouldn’t go to Canterbury. But that’s so not what Colby would have wanted. He would have been appalled that anything to do with him would interfere with anyone else’s plans. So tomorrow she will go, armed with a big box of Kleenex. I pray her friends surround her with love, just as mine have.
Memories, July 30, 2009, 7:59 p.m.
I drive 13 hours through the rain to Houston to speak at a conference and cry most of the way. Colby, his grandmother and I had made countless trips to Memphis over the years. This particular drive through Memphis, alone, is especially hard. The memories of those trips bring back other memories.
When Colby was two he left his very tattered and beloved Snoopy, his "Noopy," at a local church after a Saturday morning pancake breakfast. By the time we figured out where Noopy was, it was late afternoon and the church was locked. "That's okay," Colby said. "God will take care of Noopy until we can go back for him in the morning." The memory brings forth yet another prayer from me to God that he take care of my little boy. Please . . .
Memory after memory floods into my brain and I begin to play "what if." This is a very dangerous game because there is never a good answer. What if I had held Colby back a year before he started kindergarten? Would he have better been able to handle life's pressures? What if we had moved back to Minnesota and lived there? Would that have made a difference? What if he'd gone to different schools, participated in different sports? What if?
The fact is Colby would still have had schizophrenia and he may or may not have made the same choices. He may, however, have been able to get treatment. To distract myself from these dangerous thoughts I turn on the radio, but I can't listen to music. Colby and I had listened to so many kinds of music together at home and on trips that every song, every singer, every note brings me to tears. I try Talk radio, but it's all about health care reform. I don't want to get started on that, so I drive in silence.
I head into Houston and force myself to focus on how fortunate I was to have such wonderful memories of my son. In his 23 years Colby touched my life in so many positive ways. My life is far richer for the privilege of knowing him, however short the time. And through this blog and in many other ways, Colby and his story are touching countless others. I turn to my 3rd Kleenex box of the day to find it empty. I pray tomorrow the guilt and numbness will return.
When Colby was two he left his very tattered and beloved Snoopy, his "Noopy," at a local church after a Saturday morning pancake breakfast. By the time we figured out where Noopy was, it was late afternoon and the church was locked. "That's okay," Colby said. "God will take care of Noopy until we can go back for him in the morning." The memory brings forth yet another prayer from me to God that he take care of my little boy. Please . . .
Memory after memory floods into my brain and I begin to play "what if." This is a very dangerous game because there is never a good answer. What if I had held Colby back a year before he started kindergarten? Would he have better been able to handle life's pressures? What if we had moved back to Minnesota and lived there? Would that have made a difference? What if he'd gone to different schools, participated in different sports? What if?
The fact is Colby would still have had schizophrenia and he may or may not have made the same choices. He may, however, have been able to get treatment. To distract myself from these dangerous thoughts I turn on the radio, but I can't listen to music. Colby and I had listened to so many kinds of music together at home and on trips that every song, every singer, every note brings me to tears. I try Talk radio, but it's all about health care reform. I don't want to get started on that, so I drive in silence.
I head into Houston and force myself to focus on how fortunate I was to have such wonderful memories of my son. In his 23 years Colby touched my life in so many positive ways. My life is far richer for the privilege of knowing him, however short the time. And through this blog and in many other ways, Colby and his story are touching countless others. I turn to my 3rd Kleenex box of the day to find it empty. I pray tomorrow the guilt and numbness will return.
Plans, July 29, 2009, 7:19 p.m.
Today the shock begins to wear off and is replaced by deep sadness. I continue to be so grateful for the phone calls, donations, love, prayers and support. I am very blessed in this way.
Many have asked and I now know that Colby's Celebration of Life event will be Wednesday, August 12 at 6:00 p.m. at the Event Pavilion at Centennial Park in Nashville. This is the covered area near the back of the park near the flower garden. It's a come-as-you-are memorial and those who wish to speak a few words about Colby will be able to do so. In lieu of flowers we will be making an announcement soon about a wonderful non-profit that helps people like Colby. Please help spread the word and tell all you know. Colby would be pleased to see his many friends together.
It was a busy day and I am very tired. Hopefully I can sleep. I did eat a little and that helps. I have many thoughts about different ways Colby's passing can help others. After the Celebration of Life we'll gather all who are interested by phone, as many people who want to help are in areas outside of Nashville, to discuss possibilities. In this way together we can make Colby's life and death meaningful and helpful to others for many years to come.
Many have asked and I now know that Colby's Celebration of Life event will be Wednesday, August 12 at 6:00 p.m. at the Event Pavilion at Centennial Park in Nashville. This is the covered area near the back of the park near the flower garden. It's a come-as-you-are memorial and those who wish to speak a few words about Colby will be able to do so. In lieu of flowers we will be making an announcement soon about a wonderful non-profit that helps people like Colby. Please help spread the word and tell all you know. Colby would be pleased to see his many friends together.
It was a busy day and I am very tired. Hopefully I can sleep. I did eat a little and that helps. I have many thoughts about different ways Colby's passing can help others. After the Celebration of Life we'll gather all who are interested by phone, as many people who want to help are in areas outside of Nashville, to discuss possibilities. In this way together we can make Colby's life and death meaningful and helpful to others for many years to come.
Dreams, July 29, 2009, 7:06 a.m.
I dream I am walking down a wide dirt path in the woods when I come to a clearing. Water from a recent rain has pooled, forming a small pond, and the far bank of the pond is a cliff of gray clay about 10 feet high. I think how to navigate this obstacle, for I desperately want to go home. Finally, I decide to edge around the left side of the pond. As I come closer to the bank I see there are about a dozen people trying to climb the cliff. Most are wearing orange jumpsuits. Some have ropes and hard hats. There are a few people at the top who kick the ones who come near. A few do get through. I start to climb. I feel the wetness of the clay, and I struggle to find footholds in the slippery lumps of the cliff. My intense desire to go home outweighs my fear of heights. I near the top. I think I am going to make it. Then a foot lands on my shoulder and pushes me down into the pond. I am drowning.
After that I can't sleep. I trip on the scale on the way to the bathroom and decide to step on. Since Colby died I have lost an average of 3 pounds a day. Too much, I know, but I just can't eat. My refrigerator is filled with food and it all makes me gag.
I check my email. A friend of Colby's has sent some photos. So thoughtful. So beautiful. I feel like I should cry, but I am too numb.
Tomorrow I leave for Houston for a speaking engagement. I debated going. Can I get through it? Will the quality of my presentation be what is expected? I don't know. I do know Colby would want me to go. So I am going for him. There is much to do here and I am so overwhelmed. Maybe a change of scenery will help.
After that I can't sleep. I trip on the scale on the way to the bathroom and decide to step on. Since Colby died I have lost an average of 3 pounds a day. Too much, I know, but I just can't eat. My refrigerator is filled with food and it all makes me gag.
I check my email. A friend of Colby's has sent some photos. So thoughtful. So beautiful. I feel like I should cry, but I am too numb.
Tomorrow I leave for Houston for a speaking engagement. I debated going. Can I get through it? Will the quality of my presentation be what is expected? I don't know. I do know Colby would want me to go. So I am going for him. There is much to do here and I am so overwhelmed. Maybe a change of scenery will help.
Stuff, July 28, 2009, 9:24 p.m.
I start going through Colby's stuff. I would have said "things," but Colby's word was "stuff." I use his word. Colby was a pack rat. A hoarder. Both his room and the basement are filled with books, CDs, musical equipment, art, clothes. And as a homeless person he had stuff scattered across town. Friends gather his belongings and bring them to the house in waves. My living room is full of boxes. I begin to sort through them. Some clothes are wet and moldy. Is it disrespectful to toss a person's clothes in the trash just three days after they have passed? The clothes smell and some are growing a white fungus. With no disrespect intended, I toss them. This is going to be a long process.
There is something on the news that Colby might be interested in so I pick up the phone to call him. I get to the sixth number before I remember. Then my hand starts to shake so violently I have to carefully place the phone on my table and sit down with my hands clenched tightly between my knees. I bite my lips so hard that they bruise. I rock back and forth as Abby and Bailey, canine and feline, come to comfort me.
I get lots of calls and visitors. Flowers, too. All are greatly appreciated. I sit with my arms wrapped around the most recent arrival. So many of Colby's friends say he made a difference in their lives. Even more say he touched them deeply. I am delightfully surprised to find new friends in Colby's friends. And though the common bond we share is my son, who is no longer among us, I am excited and energized by these young people. Many, like Colby, walk a non-traditional path, but I am excited to see what a positive mark they will make on our world.
There is something on the news that Colby might be interested in so I pick up the phone to call him. I get to the sixth number before I remember. Then my hand starts to shake so violently I have to carefully place the phone on my table and sit down with my hands clenched tightly between my knees. I bite my lips so hard that they bruise. I rock back and forth as Abby and Bailey, canine and feline, come to comfort me.
I get lots of calls and visitors. Flowers, too. All are greatly appreciated. I sit with my arms wrapped around the most recent arrival. So many of Colby's friends say he made a difference in their lives. Even more say he touched them deeply. I am delightfully surprised to find new friends in Colby's friends. And though the common bond we share is my son, who is no longer among us, I am excited and energized by these young people. Many, like Colby, walk a non-traditional path, but I am excited to see what a positive mark they will make on our world.
Kindness, July 28, 2009, 11:04 a.m.
I wake up numb, still unable to eat. The numbness is welcomed, but it doesn't last. I sit in an office of kind strangers who walk me through the cremation process. My mom told me to keep a stiff upper lip, but I'm not that strong. I am embarrassed that I break down and cry. Someone brings me water, another provides hugs. This is hard.
These strangers remind me of Colby's kindness, for that was at the center of his being. He once spent his last $5 buying soft drinks for a group of homeless men. He was twelve then. He rescued puppies several times. From his earliest years he knew how to listen and he listened to the problems of many. He loved those he loved with fierce loyalty.
This morning's strangers remind me of my son. He wanted to help others, but in recent years mental illness prevented that. In honor of Colby and his wish to help people, a group of us will soon announce the Colby Keegan Memorial Scholarship for Grandpa's House, a non-profit in Nashville that offers basic tools of recovery from chemical dependency and mental illnesses. Soon, Grandpa's House will be able to receive funds and others with problems like Colby's will get help.
Colby visited Grandpa's House last week and planned to enter their program in the fall. Their web site is not up yet but it will be in several weeks. I will post more info as soon as it is available. As a parent who's lost a child before his time it is a wonderful feeling to know that a) his life was not in vain, and b) that his memory will live on.
These strangers remind me of Colby's kindness, for that was at the center of his being. He once spent his last $5 buying soft drinks for a group of homeless men. He was twelve then. He rescued puppies several times. From his earliest years he knew how to listen and he listened to the problems of many. He loved those he loved with fierce loyalty.
This morning's strangers remind me of my son. He wanted to help others, but in recent years mental illness prevented that. In honor of Colby and his wish to help people, a group of us will soon announce the Colby Keegan Memorial Scholarship for Grandpa's House, a non-profit in Nashville that offers basic tools of recovery from chemical dependency and mental illnesses. Soon, Grandpa's House will be able to receive funds and others with problems like Colby's will get help.
Colby visited Grandpa's House last week and planned to enter their program in the fall. Their web site is not up yet but it will be in several weeks. I will post more info as soon as it is available. As a parent who's lost a child before his time it is a wonderful feeling to know that a) his life was not in vain, and b) that his memory will live on.
Emails, July 28, 2009, 7:27 a.m.
I have emails. Hundreds of them. Many from people reading this blog. I try to respond to all of them and can't. There are too many. But I read them. All of them. The heartfelt words support me and keep me going. All the love, thoughts and prayers surround me and prop me up. Many emails are from people I have never met. Friends of friends, or further down the chain. I hope to meet all of you one day. Please keep writing. Please keep commenting. It's because of you that I keep going.
Places, July 27, 2009, 7:37 p.m.
We all have a place where we feel perfect. For 23 years I was fortunate enough to have two places. One was at my son's side, the other was next to a horse. Today I find I have neither. Instead, I have a gaping hole where the center of my universe used to be. For without my son, I am so nervous, distracted, teary-eyed and upset that I know I can't go to the horses I love so much.
Horses are very intuitive. Seeing me like this could remove months, years, of relationship building. It could remove their trust in me as a steady, stable person who will lead them out of danger, should there be any. I know the time will soon come when I am ready to be around my four-legged friends again. And, I know they will do their magic and finish my healing faster than any doctor possibly could. But that time is not now. Not yet. Not today.
What I do today is visit the place where Colby died. (I can't tell you how foreign those words look to me. "Colby," and "died." It's still an impossibility in my brain.) A wonderful young woman who was with Colby in his final moments walks me through the scene. We brought flowers and we kneel as, one by one, we lay the blooms across the path where my son left this Earth. It's a shady spot and sunlight flickers through the leaves. We talk about Colby, and together, we cry. I take a picture of the flower laden path and realize with deep gratitude that I have found a new place. I can come here anytime and when I can't physically get there I have a photo to carry with me.
I hope each of you has a "place." And when you are there, I hope you treasure that place and hold it tightly to you. Someday, in the blink of an eye, it could be gone. And while we are fortunate to have had the place at all, for whatever short time is allowed us, when it is gone, life is irrevocably changed.
Horses are very intuitive. Seeing me like this could remove months, years, of relationship building. It could remove their trust in me as a steady, stable person who will lead them out of danger, should there be any. I know the time will soon come when I am ready to be around my four-legged friends again. And, I know they will do their magic and finish my healing faster than any doctor possibly could. But that time is not now. Not yet. Not today.
What I do today is visit the place where Colby died. (I can't tell you how foreign those words look to me. "Colby," and "died." It's still an impossibility in my brain.) A wonderful young woman who was with Colby in his final moments walks me through the scene. We brought flowers and we kneel as, one by one, we lay the blooms across the path where my son left this Earth. It's a shady spot and sunlight flickers through the leaves. We talk about Colby, and together, we cry. I take a picture of the flower laden path and realize with deep gratitude that I have found a new place. I can come here anytime and when I can't physically get there I have a photo to carry with me.
I hope each of you has a "place." And when you are there, I hope you treasure that place and hold it tightly to you. Someday, in the blink of an eye, it could be gone. And while we are fortunate to have had the place at all, for whatever short time is allowed us, when it is gone, life is irrevocably changed.
Help, July 27, 2009, 11:32 a.m.
I get through the morning with a lot of tears and positive phone calls. There are moments when I collapse and pour out my grief and anger and despair, and there are moments when I function somewhat better. Now, I find myself holding objects in my hands with no recollection of how they got there, or how to get them out of my hands.
This loss is so distracting, so overwhelming. How will I make it through the next hour without completely falling apart? The grief today comes in waves. I feel every emotion on the rainbow in a matter of seconds. I get mad at my son, God and myself. I am also enveloped with feelings of deepest gratitude for all the many friends and blessings I have. I try to stay positive. I am so grateful that I had 23 years with my son. Many parents don't get nearly that much time. Do I wish I had more? Of course. It's not the natural order of things for children to go before their parents.
And I'm afraid, too. Of not being able to get through this grieving process whole. Of being alone when I'm old. Of the unknown, permanent life-altering changes I will experience. At the same time I realize how much parenting enriched my life. I am going to miss that terribly.
But you know, there are lots of people, young and old, who can use a friend. I hope to be that friend to many. With the loss of my son comes my vow to help as many other people in this life that I can. How thats going to happen, only God knows. I know that somehow He will get this broken mother through this and better days lie ahead.
This loss is so distracting, so overwhelming. How will I make it through the next hour without completely falling apart? The grief today comes in waves. I feel every emotion on the rainbow in a matter of seconds. I get mad at my son, God and myself. I am also enveloped with feelings of deepest gratitude for all the many friends and blessings I have. I try to stay positive. I am so grateful that I had 23 years with my son. Many parents don't get nearly that much time. Do I wish I had more? Of course. It's not the natural order of things for children to go before their parents.
And I'm afraid, too. Of not being able to get through this grieving process whole. Of being alone when I'm old. Of the unknown, permanent life-altering changes I will experience. At the same time I realize how much parenting enriched my life. I am going to miss that terribly.
But you know, there are lots of people, young and old, who can use a friend. I hope to be that friend to many. With the loss of my son comes my vow to help as many other people in this life that I can. How thats going to happen, only God knows. I know that somehow He will get this broken mother through this and better days lie ahead.
Action, July 27, 2009, 7:31 a.m.
I didn't sleep much last night, just dozed for an hour or so. My hands and legs were shaking and my was heart thumping, delayed reaction to the shock I think. I got dizzy lying there listening to my heart thump so I lay on the floor, with my feet and legs propped up on the bed. Better.
I am numb. I can't eat, think or feel. Colby had been living on the streets these past six months or so and several of Colby's friends dropped things of his off at the house last night. Things he had left in their cars, or stowed under a bush near a freeway exit. It is easy to see that they are as devastated as I am. It's good to talk with them. It helps. I should begin going through his things but I can't summon the energy. If I did, I think it would bring me comfort. Maybe later.
The cat, Bailey, and dog, Abby, know something is up. Abby barks at the slightest sound and Bailey is uncharacteristically cranky. I wish I could tell them about Colby, but maybe they already know. Animals are so much more intuitive than we are.
Action. I need a plan. I am a list maker so I start a list. The two "must do" things for my work as an author and editor, the many things I must do to start the cremation process for my son. The structure of the list helps me get going. I have a speaking engagement this coming weekend. I need to make a decision. Should I go? Can I give a quality presentation in the state I'm in? Not today, but maybe by the weekend. Colby would want me to go. I'll put that decision off until tomorrow. Maybe if I get some sleep tonight.
So it's almost 8:00 a.m. I got through the night and today I start my new life, a life without my son in my presence, but always in my heart.
I am numb. I can't eat, think or feel. Colby had been living on the streets these past six months or so and several of Colby's friends dropped things of his off at the house last night. Things he had left in their cars, or stowed under a bush near a freeway exit. It is easy to see that they are as devastated as I am. It's good to talk with them. It helps. I should begin going through his things but I can't summon the energy. If I did, I think it would bring me comfort. Maybe later.
The cat, Bailey, and dog, Abby, know something is up. Abby barks at the slightest sound and Bailey is uncharacteristically cranky. I wish I could tell them about Colby, but maybe they already know. Animals are so much more intuitive than we are.
Action. I need a plan. I am a list maker so I start a list. The two "must do" things for my work as an author and editor, the many things I must do to start the cremation process for my son. The structure of the list helps me get going. I have a speaking engagement this coming weekend. I need to make a decision. Should I go? Can I give a quality presentation in the state I'm in? Not today, but maybe by the weekend. Colby would want me to go. I'll put that decision off until tomorrow. Maybe if I get some sleep tonight.
So it's almost 8:00 a.m. I got through the night and today I start my new life, a life without my son in my presence, but always in my heart.
Grief, July 27, 2009, 1:17 a.m.
My son died 31 hours ago, although I only found out about it 11 hours ago. Now, as I try to makes sense of this tragic loss, I wonder why I didn't know my only child was dead. If what I am hearing is correct, I was watching a movie when he passed. That's something I rarely do, but I was unexpectedly tired during that time then and the hours before. Could I somehow have known and that's what I was feeling? I am sure that I will ponder that for some time.
I debated posting anything here about Colby. I am trying to respect his wishes and his privacy. Although we never discussed this specifically I know he wanted to make the world a better place. He had schizophrenia. And when he wasn't riddled with depression, panic attacks and other issues related to this disease he was a kind, caring, thoughtful, funny, talented, giving person. I do know that if his story somehow helps another through a rough time he would want that.
I am a writer and I write. Right now, it's the only way I know of to deal with my grief. As I go through this process, my goals are several. I want to:
1. turn this tragedy into something good, that somehow, some way helps others.
2. make sense of my son's life, to understand that his life was not in vain, and to find his purpose in living.
3. find my way through this loss in a way that keeps me sane, healthy and productive.
I have received an outpouring of love, prayer, and support from both my friends and his. And after posting a message on the Internet about how hard I tried to find health care for Colby over a number of years, I am now receiving the same from complete strangers. God bless each and every one of you. You are keeping me going during a time so difficult that no mother ever even imagines it. I can't tell you how much it means to me.
Health care is a hot topic now. I truly believe that if my son, my only child, had access to medical care, that he would be alive today. Let us all hope and pray that our leaders in Washington find a workable solution so that no other mother has to experience such a tragedy.
I debated posting anything here about Colby. I am trying to respect his wishes and his privacy. Although we never discussed this specifically I know he wanted to make the world a better place. He had schizophrenia. And when he wasn't riddled with depression, panic attacks and other issues related to this disease he was a kind, caring, thoughtful, funny, talented, giving person. I do know that if his story somehow helps another through a rough time he would want that.
I am a writer and I write. Right now, it's the only way I know of to deal with my grief. As I go through this process, my goals are several. I want to:
1. turn this tragedy into something good, that somehow, some way helps others.
2. make sense of my son's life, to understand that his life was not in vain, and to find his purpose in living.
3. find my way through this loss in a way that keeps me sane, healthy and productive.
I have received an outpouring of love, prayer, and support from both my friends and his. And after posting a message on the Internet about how hard I tried to find health care for Colby over a number of years, I am now receiving the same from complete strangers. God bless each and every one of you. You are keeping me going during a time so difficult that no mother ever even imagines it. I can't tell you how much it means to me.
Health care is a hot topic now. I truly believe that if my son, my only child, had access to medical care, that he would be alive today. Let us all hope and pray that our leaders in Washington find a workable solution so that no other mother has to experience such a tragedy.
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