On New Year’s Eve, a 6-year-old boy disappeared in Colorado, and his body was tragically discovered in a nearby pond. This heartbreaking news resonates as every parent’s worst fear. Reports indicate that he had a disagreement with his siblings and had a history of wandering off. As soon as the news broke, the inevitable questions arose: How could the parents let this happen?
I’ve read that his mother was at work while a grandparent was supervising him. Regardless of the accuracy of this information, it ultimately doesn’t matter. When a similar tragedy struck in our community four years ago, a young girl named Mia went missing while walking to school alone, leaving her mother, who worked night shifts, at home. Can anyone truly fathom the anguish of not being able to protect one’s child from harm? No, we cannot.
I found myself perusing the comments on Denver’s news page, encountering remarks like, “If my child had a history of wandering, I would have a GPS tracker.” Comments like “Where were the parents?” and “I would never…” flooded in. It’s a cycle we see repeatedly—whenever a tragedy occurs, many resort to blaming others as a means of reassuring themselves that such horrors could never befall them.
The reality is that it can happen to any of us. We’ve all turned our backs for just a moment or glanced at our phones while at the park. Perfection is an illusion. Even the most vigilant parents cannot shield their children from every unpredictable event. The vulnerability we face as parents is one of the most terrifying aspects of raising children.
Years ago, I remember watching a scene in a movie where two people observed a child rollerblading, heavily padded for safety. One remarked, “Someday that kid is going to get bitten by a tick and die.” It’s a grim notion, but it reflects a truth we all recognize: despite our best efforts, we can’t prepare for every possible danger. The unexpected is often what we should fear most.
When a friend experienced a miscarriage in her second trimester, another expecting mother remarked, “I thought I was out of the woods now.” I wanted to respond, “We are never out of the woods.” From the moment we contemplate having children, we have so much to lose. Perhaps that should be the mantra of parenthood: Parenthood—We Are Never Out of the Woods.
We can educate ourselves on preventing abuse, teach our children about safety, and promote healthy habits, but deep down we know that no matter how hard we try, we can never guarantee their safety. This reality weighs heavily on us.
One truth remains: judging and shaming other parents doesn’t contribute to child safety or well-being. It only adds to our collective pain. I often grapple with the emotional toll of absorbing tragic stories involving children. Just recently, I was deeply affected by a video of a father in a conflict zone mourning his lost children. I didn’t intend to watch it, but some part of me felt obligated to share in the suffering of others.
For those of us fortunate enough to have living children, we have the privilege of choosing when to engage with these heartbreaking stories. However, that privilege can feel burdensome. We want to shield ourselves from the pain, yet we also can’t turn away from the reality of fragile childhoods.
What we should do instead is channel that sorrow into genuine compassion. We can empathize with parents facing unimaginable loss because we can indeed envision that nightmare. Let’s recognize that judgment arises from a misplaced need for moral superiority and instead foster understanding and kindness.
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In summary, we must shift our perspective from blame to empathy, recognizing that we are all vulnerable and that no parent is immune to the unpredictability of life. Let us support one another through compassion, not judgment.