Dear Fellow Humans,
I know it’s been a rough couple of days for Joshua Powell’s friends and family. I haven’t felt too great myself. I’ve been thinking about Joshua almost every minute. Images flash constantly in my mind: his black mesh backpack, the collar of his green school shirt, that math book, his pale wrists. I feel pain as acutely as if I were part of his family.
Look at his sweet face. You know he had a great personality. I just can’t bear it that he’s gone.
I also can’t bear all the comments people have been posting on the stories about the accident: allotting blame to the driver, the bus company, the city and — worst of all — his parents.
This has to stop.
When did we become a society so quick to assign blame? Has this always been a standard reaction and I just never noticed?
It was an accident. A tragedy. A horrible mistake. No one did anything out of malice or ill will.
I get it: It’s easier to process if we can find someone at fault. We need a scapegoat. But we should be outraged that it happened, not outraged and finding someone to blame.
Yes, perhaps that area should be marked better for drivers to know that it is a school bus stop. Yes, kids need to look both ways before crossing the street. But I have two kids and I know sometimes they don’t think; they just do.
My boys have done some crazy things. I’m lucky something like this hasn’t happened to them.
What his family needs — what we all need as humans — is love and support. Save the rage and the holier-than-thou attitude.
Anger has not been the top emotion cycling through me for the past two days. Overwhelming sadness takes that spot.
I was a daily news reporter for many years, covering the cop and court beat. I saw many awful things. This beats everything, probably because now I’m a mom. It’s different now.
I feel cut open and raw. I can’t even imagine how his mom feels.
Even now, though, I can tell my mind is trying to pack this memory away — to compartmentalize it with the other painful memories of things that cannot be unseen. I’m reminded of the ending of “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”
But part of me wants to keep the box open, the wound fresh as a reminder to love, to connect, to support. And this is why I’m writing this post.
We humans must choose compassion over criticism. We are all in this life together. We must do this for Joshua, who is gone too soon.
This is my therapy. This is my call to arms. This is what I will teach my children.
Sorry (not sorry) for being preachy,
Beth
Observe and report 