When the Unthinkable Happens

In one of my April columns, I wrote about my very, very best friend, Andrea. She perished in a car/train collision 50 years ago at age 28 on April 15, 1975. She left a husband and two little boys, ages five and three. And she was also survived by three brothers, a mom and dad and grandparents. Little did I know I’d soon be writing about her again.

Five young campers – aspiring sailors – wake-up on Monday, July 28 eagerly looking forward to another fun day of sailing camp on Biscayne Bay in Miami, Florida. It is a hot and humid day – typical for summertime in the Sunshine State. 

I imagine the five of them, accompanied by their nineteen-year-old counselor, pulling away from the dock heading toward the open water for another lesson in sailing. I can just hear their excited words. I can just see their smiling faces as the wind swirls around them. I can picture their yet-to-be fully developed little bodies wrapped in life jackets in case of mishap. 

No one knows – even now – exactly how their sailboat and a massive commercial barge collided, but the sailboat ended up submerged under the barge and witnesses shortly after the collision said, “All the kids went flying off.”

The counselor and one camper were thrown clear and survived without injury. Two died instantly and two little girls were taken to a nearby hospital. One of the two hospitalized was later released. The last little girl, age 10, lingered for a few days. She passed away on Saturday without regaining consciousness. She was buried on Sunday. 

The young lady’s name was Arielle Mazi Buchman and she was the  granddaughter of my very, very best friend Andrea and named in her memory. 
 


The family rabbi, Eliot Pearlson, conducted the burial service for Ari. When he was interviewed, he said that it was “one of the hardest weeks of his life.” And added that Ari was “a remarkable child – an old soul always helping others.” 

How do we live in a world where our biggest nightmares can come true?

How do we go on after unspeakable loss?

How do we push forward with such a heavy burden to carry?
 
William Wordsworth’s poem “Ode: Intimations of Immortality” comes to mind. It expresses that while we can’t return to the joyful moments of the past, there is value in finding strength from those memories:

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, but rather find
Strength in what remains behind. 

I turned for guidance to several people who have lost children.

One suggested that it helps to both rage and mourn – to express  emotions openly and without fearing judgment.Another said, “No books, no philosophizing, no commiserating really helps; but people who both care and show-up is comforting.“ And if you have other children, all agreed you owe it to them to not abdicate your role as a loving and supportive parent.

 
I know Ari’s parents, siblings and grandparents will continue to be supported by their community, friends, family and neighbors. And I know they will take care of themselves and each other. 

I know they will find comfort in their Jewish faith and that its religious rituals will provide structure and a sense of order. 

Maybe, given time, some future legacy project honoring the cherished memory of Ari will help them carry on also. 

And, as we often say in Judaism to honor a person’s legacy and acknowledge the impact they had on others:

“May their memory be a blessing.” 

I hope that for them too.
 
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,