I Buried My Son Today, 22 Years After His Death…
Today I took what seemingly is the longest train ride of my life from Richmond, Virginia to Baltimore, MD. There is a myriad of thoughts running through my mind as I start on this three-hour journey.
I am not usually so open with my stuff. I’ve spent the last 22 years suffering in silence, thinking that God had singled me out for His sordid brand of torture. But I now realize that as I’ve gotten a bit more seasoned in life, my experiences are not unique. Others may be dealing with this same or similar circumstance as I.
Let me explain my ordeal a bit further. My son’s actual death occurred on May 2, 1998. Life had already kicked me in the ass a few times prior. I could not figure out what I had done so spiritually wrong that God took it personally and decided to enact His revenge on me. At one point, I had even considered suicide to make it easier for Him and everyone else. My life was a complete disaster.
It was February 1998 when I first met Elandreau Aleczander Howard in the courtroom at a paternity hearing. This beautiful child walked up to me and asked me if I was his dad. My heart melted immediately. For the first time in a very long time, I had that wonderful sense of peace and love. I remember just picking him up and hugging him. In his face, I saw that young innocence that I once had. I welled with tears. Some were for this joyous occasion, but most were a release of past pains, disappointments, and a feeling of deep sorrow.
There was no way I could contest this. He was the spitting image of me just in a smaller package. We sat together during the entire legal ordeal, but, at that moment, nothing mattered. I was outside of my pity party and living in a moment of bliss. I could not compare this feeling to anything else simply because I’ve learned to avoid happiness and people getting emotionally close to me. I had perfected it. I knew that love only caused pain, and I had the experience to prove it.
It had gotten so bad in fact that prior to this moment, I made a pact with God that I would never allow myself to love anyone or feel close to anyone again. All God would have to do was intervene in an altercation that involved my “girlfriend”, her pistol-toting new lover who seemed thrilled to be holding a gun to my head, and me. Yet, despite that pact, here I was engulfed in this overwhelming feeling of love and joy. I was feeling a very close attachment to my son whom I just met. I have two sons from previous relationships, but this was something entirely different.
We get through the court process. What a cluster that is. In the absence of nothing else, I get it. When two parents can’t work things out, it is unfortunate that the court has to get involved. I believe that it improves very little in terms of parenting. Nevertheless, my son and I walk out of there hand in hand.
Unfortunately, I was never able to get all three of my boys together. I had envisioned that I would have this moment of being a proud dad watching my three handsome sons enjoy sharing time, but it just did not happen that way.
On one occasion, I had my oldest son Jeff jr and Elandreau with me in tow on our way to an old establishment called The Discovery Zone in Baltimore. Kyle, my middle son, was unavoidably not able to join us. There I stood proudly watching Elandreau climb to the top of the jungle gym. He had such a sense of accomplishment. I, too, in some way, felt accomplished at that moment. It seemed like time stood still while we played.
That next Saturday, the day before Mother’s Day, 1998, was to be another outing with my boys and me. I was looking forward to it but got a call from work asking if I could take on another shift. My thought at the time was sure; there would be other opportunities to gather the boys and hang out. Besides, I would now have extra cash to do so.
I rushed home to change my clothes; and while I am dressing, I hear on the news that a five-year-old named Elandreau Howard was hit by a truck and killed on York Rd near Northern Parkway. I went numb. I said to myself, “I just saw him!”. While I didn’t want it to be my son, I also didn’t want it to be the son of someone else. I didn’t try to reach his mom because I didn’t want her to tell me it was him. I just sat there, lost in time at The Discovery Zone watching him on the jungle gym. I didn’t want to hear it.
My mom came to tell me the awful truth. Like many times before, I swallowed that grief, got dressed, and went to work. For days, in the shadows, I cried uncontrollably. I felt responsible. In my mind, I believed that had he been with me as scheduled, none of this would have happened. God and I now had a big problem. Why would HE build my hopes up then take this away from me? I have never felt this deep pain before. I refused to go to the viewing, the funeral, or the burial. I wanted no part of seeing my boy in a coffin. I held onto The Discovery Zone memory as if my own life depended on it, and it did.
Soon after, I took another job in Richmond, VA. I would reluctantly visit Baltimore on rare occasions because my entire family still lives there. Baltimore was where I kept my skeletons. I dropped my full first name and went with the initial “J.” I had to reinvent a new person that will be forever void of any close relationship with anyone else. I allowed people to make up opinions about or define me as being aloof, introverted, without feelings, etc. It was easier than revealing who I was. I was this broken, damaged man trying to survive this place with God personally attacking me.
I shared my innermost being with no one. If I found myself feeling close to someone, I would end that relationship immediately. I was a text-book asshole devoid of feelings for anyone, including myself. What a miserable life that was in the beginning, but I subsequently became quite comfortable with it.
Over time, my bullshit was my truth. I dove headfirst into work. I set a goal of becoming a CIO (Chief Information Officer). I studied, worked my ass off, ignoring any and everything that had an emotional component to it. I figured out how to beat God at this “feelings” shit. In the process of doing so, I hurt and confused some beautiful people and created distance with my sons and other family members.
The irony with this is that I learned a lot about myself. This character that I became wasn’t sustainable; I knew it. But, I just refused to let anyone in. I lived in a world of indifference. People thought that I was a nice guy (that infuriated me). I simply didn’t give a good fuck about anything that I could not control, especially other people.
I managed to live the life of an indifferent character for about nineteen years. I had built this solid wall that kept everyone at bay. I traveled alone, went to movies alone. I would take time from work and stay home. My routine was home, work, gym, and my weekly run to the grocery store. I had mastered the art of being among people but not with them. Then it all started to unravel. I told you earlier that my bullshit was unsustainable.
It all started with getting promoted to CIO. The promotion was the ultimate goal. I traveled a long, arduous course to get there. The CEO of my mortgage finance company granted me that wish. I remember walking out of her office, feeling less accomplished than when I went in.
The promotion was my climb up the jungle gym. I focused my entire life on it. It was my safe haven. I am at the top, why do I feel like shit? I am in a corner office; I have an entire staff and division to run. Most people would feel elated.
What I remember most was that because I had pushed everyone away and hid so well in the corporate world, I had no one to celebrate with me. What the fuck had I done? I couldn’t blame God this time. I did this. I am responsible for all of it. I thought that maybe I should seek professional help, and I did. It didn’t help in the way I needed it. I wasn’t looking to point fingers at anyone or thing now. I did this. Now, what do I do? I’ve alienated everyone. Or so I thought.
Somehow, I managed to pull my head out of my ass and two people were standing there. One was Truitt, who I met when he was 5. He adopted me. He didn’t care about my history, my fuckups, etc. He simply asked me to be his dad. Just as Elandreau had, all Truitt wanted was to spend time with me, and I almost blew it. His mom is a real angel, and I am genuinely sorry for how I treated her. Truitt and I still hang out to this day.
Then there’s “B.” I wish I could tell you what happened to us. I have only opinions, but with her, I felt alive again. I honestly love this woman and may never see her again, but she awakened that dead heart of mine, maybe a bit too much for her sake.
So today, after 22 years of blaming God, feeling guilty, and living in the valley of my created demise, I took the train to Baltimore to bury my son. I met my other two sons there and they went with me. We searched that graveyard seemingly for hours (we had inaccurate directions) until we found Elandreau. And here I am, 22 years later, that proud dad standing there with my three handsome sons. We just talked, laughed, and loved one another.
Not only am I a proud dad, but I am also a granddad (don’t call me that), son, and filled with the love of my life. I have taken all those years of technology and leadership training and now consult with community-based businesses helping them to better integrate technology with their business processes. This highly impacts their missions. Most importantly and most fulfilling is that I am also using my former turmoil to help others get through theirs.
My biggest lesson in all of this is: SHIT DIDN’T HAPPEN TO ME; IT HAPPENED FOR ME!
I have a stronger purpose in life now and I intend to make the most use of what time I have left. I will smile more, laugh more, love more, and be a blessing to someone else.
