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This is the story of that day and how it changed my life. The death of my child and what it does to a family, especially a mother, words cannot express the grief, the pain that is left behind trying to deal with something that you don't understand and something that you cannot explain to others. There are no words, only pain--day and night you live with this and you know that it will never go away. I don't sleep much anymore, my life has changed. I get up in the night and sit in the dark sometimes thinking of Kelly and how much I miss him, wishing I could hug him one more time. I get up in the morning and look at his picture on the mantle. How could this have happened? I will never have the answer to that here, until I see Kelly again. Kelly was born April 16, 1972. To say he was a high energy child is putting it mildly. Always on the go from the time he could crawl. A smile that made you forgive him, no matter what he had done. When he was older, he played baseball and a little basketball, but these things just never seem to be that important to him. Then, when he was eleven, he found bowling. He joined a youth league and found the love of his life. He was at the bowling alley every spare moment he had. I would sometimes get calls from Kelly's teachers telling me that he was not finishing his work and his grades were down. I would ground him and tell him no bowling until the grades came up, but he would beg me, "Mom, please let me bowl; I promise I will bring my grades up, just please let me bowl." I always gave in and he would bring the grades up for awhile, then a few months later we would go through it all again. When he was fifteen, we went to a wonderful play called Toy Maker and soon he gave his life to the Lord. I cannot say that he lived it all the time, but Kelly knew when he prayed God answered. I had taught my kids about the Lord since they were young. I remember nights when he would come home from bowling or just being with friends, I would be lying in bed watching TV and he would come in and plop down on the bed and tell me about a problem he was having and say, "Mom, pray about this ok?" He had many, many friends and they would all tell you he was a loyal friend. If they needed him he would be there, and they would do the same for him. He was not perfect and I don't mean to make him sound that way. He and I had many fights and some were very loud and ugly. He could be extremely stubborn and so am I, so we locked horns as they say. Yes, he could stubborn, rude, and high-tempered at times, but he had a good heart and he would help anyone that he thought needed it. We used to talk a lot about God. He would ask me questions and I would try to answer. If I did not know the answer to some I would find them in the Bible and explain it the best I could. He prayed about his bowling; he wanted to be the best and God had certainly given him the talent--he was awesome. That ball would go rolling down that lane headed straight for the gutter and then, right when you thought it was going in, it curved over and hit the pins head on. It was something to see. By the time he got to around twenty, I did not go much anymore. He was on so many leagues he was there almost every night. I just waited for the tournaments and would watch him then; he was great. When he bowled badly he would get so down on himself. I would tell him, "Kelly, you just need to get over it. You will do better next time." He had bowled so many 300 games, I think he thought they should all be 300s. But that was Kelly--it had to be perfect, and if it wasn't, it was it his fault and he would practice, and practice until he got it right. His life just seemed so good. He had his bowling, his golf, and so many friends. What went wrong? Then everything changed. Kelly and his girlfriend of five years were having some problem. This was something that Kelly could have handled. My advice was, "If you love each other it will work out; if you don't you will both move on." But, for once, this was something he could not handle and it was dragging him down. He did not know what to do after all those years. He was sure he loved her and wanted things to work out, but it was not working and he knew it. I felt sure he would just get out of the situation, find someone new and go on, but by this time this depression was really getting a grip on him. Nothing was working, and he just became so frustrated and fell deeper into the depression. I really thought he would snap out of it; he was always so self-confident, so sure of himself--he had everything going for him. If she wanted someone new, then let her go. He did not need her; he had never had a problem finding girlfriends--someone new would come along. His depression grew deeper, until it consumed his whole world. When I realized how bad it was, I called our doctor who wanted to see Kelly as soon as possible. I took him and the doctor ran some tests to make sure it was not physical. He talked to Kelly and put him on some medication, explaining that it would take awhile for it to work, but if Kelly did not feel better in a couple of weeks he would change the medication. He told me to make sure that Kelly took it and I did, going to his apartment every day to make sure he took it. I thought he would be ok. Fours days later he was dead. March 2, 1999, the phone rang. I thought it was my daughter. We had been talking earlier and she'd had to go, but said she would call back in a few minutes. The call was from Kelly's girlfriend. I remember her words as if they were ten minutes ago: "Pam, Kelly shot himself." At the time I was strangely calm and I asked her "if he was dead," but she said she did not know, that she had come to the apartment and found him, grabbed the phone, and ran downstairs. I told her to call the police and I would be right there. I was trying to call my husband, make a call to the police myself, and get dressed all at the same time. Fear was beginning to creep in, but I kept hanging on to Steph's words that she did not know if he was dead. I just kept telling myself that he was wounded and he would be fine. But from somewhere deep inside me I heard myself scream, "God please don't let him be dead." I wasn't sure I could drive to the apartment I was shaking so hard, but I did--driving fast, passing cars, and honking for people to get out of my way. I finally reached the apartment and there were police cars everywhere. The driveway was very long and it seemed like I was running in slow motion, but as soon as I turned the corner to the apartment, Scott Shields, a police officer, was waiting for me. He just grabbed me and hugged me and at that moment I knew that my son was dead. I just started screaming. I went inside the apartment. Another police officer was standing at the foot of the stairs. "No one can go up," he said. It was a crime scene and they were waiting for the Crime Scene Unit to come. I just stood there. In my mind, even though he was dead, he still needed me. I felt so alone, like there was no one in the world that could help me, I remember thinking: Why didn't you just shoot me too; it would have been easier. I can never get through this; some part of me had just died. I was sitting in an apartment, my son's body upstairs. I had no idea at this time that my son had been dead for seven hours before he was found. I was across town in my house, why didn't I feel something when he took his last breath?. Isn't a mother suppose to know these things like a sixth sense or something? My son lay dead for seven hours and I did not even know? The Crime Scene Unit has come, they are upstairs taking pictures of my son's body. I could see the flashbulbs going off. This can't be real. Why, God, why? I just wanted to run upstairs and hold my child. Only God himself can understand what I am feeling, the pain, rage, anger, frustration--it is like you are standing on a rooftop looking down on all these people, but no one can see you or hear you. You have become invisible. The grief had become so unbearable there were no words to describe it. At this time my mind started shutting down, God in His mercy knew I could handle no more. I was moving, but like a robot, still breathing but not by choice. My twenty-year-old son was dead. In the blink of an eye, his life was over and mine was changed forever. Part of my heart was just ripped right out of my body and it did not even matter. The next thing I remember was being at the hospital, I don't know how I got there, but my daughter Tammy was there, trying to take care of everything, I was crazy with grief. I just wanted to see my son. Someone came and talked to me and asked me to wait until the next morning; they said I would not want to see him like that. Friends and family have told me that part of the story. I remember none of that. They asked me about a funeral home, but I was blank. My daughter took care of that. The next thing I remember was being at home. I don't know how I got there either. There were people everywhere. It must have been two or three in the morning but Kelly's friends just kept coming. The word had spread even in the middle of the night. They stood in shock: their friend was dead. I was shivering cold to the bone and could not get warm. I did not sleep, I was not tired. The next morning I had to go the apartment, I had to stand by my son's bed and see where he died; it was so hard, but I had to see where he took his last breath. God was with me though I did not even know it. I could not have made it without him. I somehow managed to pick out Kelly's clothes, the last thing he would ever wear. I shake as I write this, the memories keep flooding back, or at least the parts I remember. My husband and I--and I think there were others there, but I cannot remember who they were--went to pick out a casket and a cemetery plot. I seemed to be watching myself doing these things, someone that looked like me was doing them. The funeral was a blur. I remember very little about it. God did not want Kelly to do this, but the depression just over took him and he could not think straight anymore. I have taught my kids about God since they were old enough to understand. Although I was so angry at God after this happened. What happened, God? What happened to Proverbs 11:12: The seed of the righteous shall be delivered? Or Isaiah 49:25: I will contend with him that contends with you and I will save your children? Can I ever trust you again? For days I screamed at God, "What happened here?" But even though I was mad at God I knew He did not kill my son. The missing is constant; it never stops. The very God that I yelled and screamed at has given me more strength that I ever dreamed. He says he will do exceedingly abundantly more that we can ask or think, and believe me, He has. I wanted to die after Kelly did. There was just no reason to go on; nothing mattered anymore. But God always has a plan and He has used me to talk to others that think suicide is the only answer to their problems. I pray that I can help someone. When this first happened, I felt totally abandoned by God, like I was going through this hell and He was not there. I did not feel Him at all, but I was wrong--He was there, and I would not be here today had He not been with me. I would have walked through fire for my child, but in the end, I could not save him. But God did. Not a day goes by that I don't cry for Kelly, and there will be an emptiness inside me that will be there till I die. Sometimes I just want to scream, "You can't change your mind, Kelly--it is too late." At Kelly's funeral we had the song "Wind Beneath my Wings" played for the boy that could accomplish anything he set his mind to, who truly believed that anything was possible if you just went for your dreams. He always amazed me he had so many 300 rings from bowling, so many trophies and plaques. His goal was to be a pro-bowler and everyone knew he had what it took. Kelly, you were my hero. I love you. Mom I have learned that when something so devastating happens that it shatters your life, and you feel you cannot hold on anymore, God will hold on to you. That in the darkest hours when you don't see one ray of light there are angels standing quietly by. Thank You God, You were there all the time. © Pam O'Connell E-mail Pam |
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Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
(2 Corinthians 1:2 NIV)
