Why I Can’t Forgive Richard Heene

The minute my son’s tiny body squeezed out of me, I changed. I became vulnerable. Sure, I had loved before. My husband is testament to my faith in love. We need each other, and to lose the other would be devastating. But we are strong. We can survive on our own. My little boy, though capable and independent, needs us. It is as if God has granted me authority beyond my emotional control, to ensure the safety and well being of this beautiful child. I am afraid I love my son so much that my heart will surely burst.

Balloon Boy Falcon Heene

When my son was born, I became frail. I could no longer watch news reports of children gone missing or heinously abused. I could not let myself imagine the fear and pain in that child. I could not watch a parent grieve. Not everyone is like me. But some are.

“Much of the answer lies in psychology: When tragedy strikes — whether a hurricane or a missing child — strangers often unite to comfort each other. Some were parents who could identify with the family’s loss; others simply wanted to express their condolences,” writes Benjamin Radford, Bad Science columnist and managing editor of the Skeptical Inquirer science magazine. Radford is referring more to those people who send flowers to and grieve for strangers, such as the parents of missing Orange Park, Fla., girl Somer Thompsom. “For many people expressing their grief and pain, the benefit is less for the victim’s family than for themselves.”

Another reason why some of us may get emotionally involved in such cases may be what has been coined as “event grief,” described by Newsweek writer Ken Auchincloss. He writes, “emotion is the glue that fastens people to an event played out in the papers or on television.” Can you say Balloon Boy hoax before it was revealed to be a hoax? “Emotions of this sort,” Auchinclos goes on to say, “hardly count as feelings at all; they’re a form of participation. They’re like screams at a pop concert, which don’t signify love or even admiration but just exuberance at being a part of the show.”

Yet another reason, says Radford, is that these children are perfect candidates for sympathy. They are the faces we see in our own families. Cute, young, beautiful kids. The ones we cannot bear to lose because we just love them too much.

Last week my husband called and said this: “Oh God, Oh God. Have you heard? It’s awful. A little 6-year-old boy is floating in an experimental hot air balloon above Colorado.” And I couldn’t hear any more. I refused to watch TV because I knew they were covering the story nonstop. I told my husband to let me know when the situation was resolved. But until then, I could not bear the thought of a child the same age as mine helplessly floating thousands of feet in the air. I knew the outcome would likely be grim, and I wasn’t sure I could bear to hear reports of that child’s last few hours of life. He was somebody’s baby, and I could not imagine being the parent who had to endure that pain.

Too many parents have to suffer with the reality of losing a child. Like the Thompson family, who two days after reporting their daughter missing learned a body of a young girl fitting her description turned up dead at a nearby landfill. Their pain is real. Their grief is unbearable.

And this is why I will never forgive Richard Heene.

Photo, Zuma Press