BC Politics with Hubert Beyer

VICTORIA – Next time someone tells you that the world is a cold and hard place in which no-one gives a damn for their fellow humans, send them to me. I know better.

Although I have never lost faith in the basic goodness of mankind, I was not prepared for the incredible outpouring of love, affection and encouragement with which our family was showered after the recent loss of our son Roderick.

Please allow me one more digression from my regular political observations which normally occupy this space and give me the opportunity to express mine and my family’s gratitude.

The response from people, many of whom I have never met, to the tragedy that hit is so brutally has been overwhelming.

After my final tribute to our boy appeared in the newspapers I write for, my mailbox was over-flowing with letters from readers. My publishers and editors, many of whom have been close friends for years, called to express their condolences.

There were dozens of e-mail and fax messages every day from people expressing the affection and support we so badly needed.

I had written that piece not only to express my own anguish and hurt, but in the hope that it might touch people.

Death is so cruel in its finality and inevitability that nature has kindly conditioned us to live our lives without constantly fearing it. But when death does strike, its effects are devastating.

By sharing my grief with you, I wanted to remind you just how fragile life is, that love unspoken for one day is love lost for one day. Judging from your letters, I succeeded.

A number of readers told me they read the column aloud to their families. Others said they would keep it to remind them of the need to treat every day as a precious gift.

One thing I could have done without were the dozen or so anonymous letters, containing what were, in my opinion, rather questionable religious observations on death by the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Unaccompanied by any personal note, the "tract" told me, in so many words, that other faiths got it wrong when they tell people the dead go somewhere after they die. I found the anonymity especially tacky.

Please spare me any further messages. I’m not convert material. You keep your God, and I’ll keep mine, even though he or she did a lousy job looking out for our son.

It’s been a month since our Roderick died. During the first few days, I was certain the intensity of my pain would never let up. But it does. I cry less often now. And the incredible ache is slowly being replaced by a more bearable feeling of loss and abandonment.

There is, of course, the joy of having Roderick’s little girl with us. When I look at Pamela, I see our son. And being parents to an eight-year-old demands an affirmation of life rather than contemplation of death.

I’m the kind of guy who can’t walk past a baby carriage without looking at the little tyke and feeling good all over, and I’ve often said to my wife I wished we could do it all over again. And even though I didn’t want it to happen this way, I count my blessings.

Children are resilient, and Pamela is coming to terms with her father’s death in her own way. We talk about her dad often, remembering him the way he would like us to. We look at photo albums and recall the great times we had with him.

For us, as parents, the pain of losing a child will never go way. As I said before, it offends the natural order, but with the help of family and friends, it is so much easier to bear. And I had no idea just how many friends we had.

Once again, our deep-felt thanks to you for caring about us in a difficult time. I will not forget it.