This is the 3rd of 3 connected posts. It will probably make a lot more sense to you if you read Part 1 & Part 2 first.
When I became a social worker, one of the things I took very seriously was my duty not to breach confidentiality. My work involved the secrets and skeletons in other people's closets. Having loose lips in such a profession can easily ruin lives. I held to my vow even if it meant that I might go down in flames. In the case involving the dead child, I certainly did go down in flames.
There was so much innuendo and false reporting in the media about me that my wife, friends and family begged me to go to the media to set the record straight. I steadfastly refused because the only way I could clear the air was to breach confidentiality and I simply wasn't going to do that. I owed it to the dead child to keep my trap shut and I did until the trial of his father and step-mother concluded. By that point, all the information I could share was now public record.
Interestingly enough, after one newspaper conducted a long exclusive interview with me, they never ran the article. When I contacted the reporter to find out why, he said his editors decided it was "old news".
While this whole ordeal was happening, it placed a great strain on my marriage. My wife couldn't understand why her then-confrontational husband refused to confront the many falsehoods head on. We had many heated arguments on this one topic and it led to a trial separation. I stand before you today to state how happy I am that we reconciled in a few months.
I certainly didn't like the situation I found myself in, but the one silver lining was that my photo never appeared in the newspaper nor on camera. You see, Trey is my nickname, not my given name, and all of our various accounts -- rent, electric, cable, etc. -- were listed under my given name. So, even though one particular TV reporter lived not 2 or 3 miles from me in the same small town and we often shopped at the same grocery store at the same time, no one in the media could seem to locate me!
Unlike a lot of individuals in similar situations, I didn't have TV camera crews camped out on my front lawn. I didn't have to worry about crank phone calls or death threats. I continued to putter around town rather anonymously.
While I was saved from direct confrontations with the media or angry members of the public, my poor mother had to endure the vilification of her eldest son. This would be a difficult pill to swallow for any mother, but my mom was fighting a losing battle with cancer at the time (she succumbed in 1992). While I could take any amount of vitriol or abuse associated with my name, it made my mother an emotional wreck and that is the one part of the ordeal, from my family's perspective, that for me was the most difficult.
Those events from bygone years have, in many ways, shaped the man I am today. I lost a career I loved; I could never be a social worker again. It strained my marriage almost to the breaking point and it almost killed my mother before the cancer could.
But through it all -- I still feel the same way today -- it's hard to shake the knowledge that an innocent child died, in part, because of a decision I made. I made that decision believing it would help the child live, but it didn't turn out that way.
He died...
...and I could have stopped it from happening.
When I became a social worker, one of the things I took very seriously was my duty not to breach confidentiality. My work involved the secrets and skeletons in other people's closets. Having loose lips in such a profession can easily ruin lives. I held to my vow even if it meant that I might go down in flames. In the case involving the dead child, I certainly did go down in flames.
There was so much innuendo and false reporting in the media about me that my wife, friends and family begged me to go to the media to set the record straight. I steadfastly refused because the only way I could clear the air was to breach confidentiality and I simply wasn't going to do that. I owed it to the dead child to keep my trap shut and I did until the trial of his father and step-mother concluded. By that point, all the information I could share was now public record.
Interestingly enough, after one newspaper conducted a long exclusive interview with me, they never ran the article. When I contacted the reporter to find out why, he said his editors decided it was "old news".
While this whole ordeal was happening, it placed a great strain on my marriage. My wife couldn't understand why her then-confrontational husband refused to confront the many falsehoods head on. We had many heated arguments on this one topic and it led to a trial separation. I stand before you today to state how happy I am that we reconciled in a few months.
I certainly didn't like the situation I found myself in, but the one silver lining was that my photo never appeared in the newspaper nor on camera. You see, Trey is my nickname, not my given name, and all of our various accounts -- rent, electric, cable, etc. -- were listed under my given name. So, even though one particular TV reporter lived not 2 or 3 miles from me in the same small town and we often shopped at the same grocery store at the same time, no one in the media could seem to locate me!
Unlike a lot of individuals in similar situations, I didn't have TV camera crews camped out on my front lawn. I didn't have to worry about crank phone calls or death threats. I continued to putter around town rather anonymously.
While I was saved from direct confrontations with the media or angry members of the public, my poor mother had to endure the vilification of her eldest son. This would be a difficult pill to swallow for any mother, but my mom was fighting a losing battle with cancer at the time (she succumbed in 1992). While I could take any amount of vitriol or abuse associated with my name, it made my mother an emotional wreck and that is the one part of the ordeal, from my family's perspective, that for me was the most difficult.
Those events from bygone years have, in many ways, shaped the man I am today. I lost a career I loved; I could never be a social worker again. It strained my marriage almost to the breaking point and it almost killed my mother before the cancer could.
But through it all -- I still feel the same way today -- it's hard to shake the knowledge that an innocent child died, in part, because of a decision I made. I made that decision believing it would help the child live, but it didn't turn out that way.
He died...
...and I could have stopped it from happening.
My wife is now following this story as I told her about post one and she has now read the following installments. It reminds her of a time in her past and it reminds me of some stories my dad has. It is sure to resonate with many one way or another.
ReplyDeleteI say this is a good story to tell for several different reasons, from your perspective and from the readers'.
ReplyDeleteThe type of social work in which you were involved is mentally, emotionally, and morally taxing. Thank you for your service in an almost impossible (and generally thankless) job. You were brave to do that job in the first place, brave for facing the maelstrom in the manner you did, and brave for telling this story.
Inside Solomon's Temple, the floor as one walked to the Sanctum Santorum was checkered black and white. I was taught this was a lesson to those traversing the floor that while the "darker squares of life" could not be avoided, they could be used to travel towards a most wonderful goal. I never forgot this lesson, and it has been reinforced since I have uncovered the truths of Buddhism.
I wish you peace, and whatever comfort you can find regarding this situation.
I'm not sure why I decided the time had come to tell this story. I guess I was hoping that by telling it, I would feel better. I do in one way, but not in another.
ReplyDeleteMY shrink always tells me I would have been a great doctor, but this is why I couldn't have been -- I would not have been able to stand the one I would lose even with the hundreds I could save.
ReplyDeleteYou did the best you could -- that's all anyone could do.
Namaste.
I hope the sharing of this story helps to release all those feelings of guilt, anger, sadness, and frustration you carry.
ReplyDeleteDonna,
ReplyDeleteThat's the thing. I went back and forth on my decision that night. I could see it from both perspectives. Hindsight makes me feel that I ended up making the wrong one.
BR,
It didn't.