Death

I'm extremely saddened by the story of the death of Shannon Stone, a 39-year-old firefighter from Brownwood, Texas. There is no reason for me to know the name of Mr. Stone because his Thursday night should have been normal. He was supposed to take his 6-year-old son, Cooper, to his first-ever Rangers' game. Prior to the game, the son simply wanted a baseball. In anticipation of this, Shannon bought his son a glove. When they got to their seats, right next to the left field wall, they hollered at Josh Hamilton to throw them a foul ball. When he got one in the second inning, Josh threw them one.

It should've been a great moment. Cooper would get his foul ball. He'd hold it and stare at it for the entirety of the game. He'd tell his mother. He'd tell his friends. He'd bring it to school. He'd keep it in a safe place. It should've been a big day for him.

And now it's the biggest day of his life. Because his father, desperately trying to get his son that ball, fell off the stands. He fell 20 feet and landed on his head. He died half an hour later.

Now his wife has no husband. Brownwood has one less fire fighter. Cooper has no daddy.

My father died when I was nine. He didn't die in front of me, and he died by his own hand. It didn't make national news, and it didn't affect nearly as many people. But, in almost every way, that act completely defined the person I eventually became. The ripples from that act still affect me today. And they will affect Cooper for a long time.

Because I know what happens next. Cooper, at age six, is probably too young to full realize what happened and what it means. My sister was six when my dad died, and it didn't really affect her as much as it affected me. Maybe it's because she was simply too young to remember much about him. Maybe growing up without a father was just normal to her. I hope that's the case with Cooper.

But here's what's going to happen. At some point (and it probably already happened), Cooper is going to fully grasp that his father is gone and isn't coming back. He's going to be sad, and he's going to want to be all alone. All the love in the world, all the money from donations, and all the support isn't going to mean a damn thing. He's going to want his dad back and nothing else.

Then his friends are going to find out. They will probably find out from their own parents, but the comprehension on his friends' levels won't be as strong. They won't understand the pain, and they won't understand the reality of it. To many of them, Cooper's dad is just a random grown up. And because they're kids, they're not going to know how to react to Cooper.

I know most people left me alone. I had a lot of friends before my dad died. I had many, many less afterwards. I assume that parents and teachers told the kids that I would be sad and that they needed to be nice to me. Or leave me alone and let me grieve. Either way, I don't remember much support from my friends. Then again, I've blocked almost everything from that era. Children aren't supposed to have that much pain inflicted on them, and a still-developing brain simply can't handle it.

I hope Cooper does better than I did. I hope he handles it like my sister did. I hope that Cooper's friends rise up to support him, and more importantly, that Cooper is able to accept that support (something I almost certainly didn't do).

It's going to be hard. Cooper is going to go through the rest of his life without a father. And, unless you have lost a parent, you simply can't understand what that's like. He has one less parent to talk to about serious issues. And, as a young boy, he lost his one guide into the world of being a man. His mother, whether she ever remarries or not, is going to have to handle all of those responsibilities. She's going to have to serve as mother and father, and it's a Hell of a job.

I thank God that my mother was strong enough to do that, and I pray to God that Cooper's mother is as strong as mine.

And, eventually, it will get better. You learn to live a life, and having no father becomes the norm. There are times when the idea of a father is simply alien to me. When one of my friends talks about their father, I have trouble comprehending the concept. Which, I suppose, is the mind's way of handling it. It fills in the hole left as well as it can. Sometimes too well.

But there will be times when it will come back. And like a sore wound, it will hurt just as bad as when it happened.

And he's going to struggle with his faith. How could he not? He's going to see all of his friends running around with their dads. Getting taken to ballgames by their dads. Getting coached by their dads. Playing with their dads. And Cooper is going to hate that. He's going to hate the fact that everyone else has a dad and he doesn't. You think kids get jealous about their friend's new iPhone. Try that with a parent.

If he's like me, he's going to wonder "why me?" And it's going to take a long, long time for him to be able to forgive anyone for the pain he's had to endure. For a childhood that was taken away from him.

Don't get me wrong. I didn't have a bad childhood. But I also didn't have the childhood that I could have had. I was forced to grow up way too fast, and I was forced to comprehend a topic that children shouldn't even have to worry about. I've missed out on 18 Father's Days. My father wasn't present to see me graduate high school or collage. He won't be present at my wedding, and he won't ever see any future grandchildren. He won't be there to give away his only daughter, either.

And, unfortunately, I still had my father to blame. He killed himself. It wasn't a tragic accident - he made the conscious decision to abandon his family and leave us with the bill. It's something that I will not forgive because I do not want to forgive it. If there's a Hell, he can rot in it. And if he's not, I will do what I can to drag his ass there. He had no right to do that to my sister, and he had no right to do that to my mother. Zero. None. So fuck him.

Cooper has no one to blame but crappy luck. Because so many things had to go happen for Shannon to die. They had to get those exact seats. They had to go to that exact game, which was only played because a different game rained out earlier in the season. Conor Jackson had to hit it exactly where he hit it, somewhere where the ball would land without anyone catching it...causing it to go onto the field. Josh had to throw it exactly where he did. No one else could catch him. And he probably had to land exactly how he did.

Any of those factors change, and Shannon would've been fine. Cooper would've been fine. And I wouldn't be typing any of this.

Maybe he'll understand that he was simply given a bad hand. Maybe he'll realize that some people get breaks and some people don't. Maybe all the love and support will get through to him, and he'll be able to forgive everyone (including God and himself) for what happened. I know if it were me, I wouldn't be able to do that, but hopefully Cooper is stronger than me.

It sucks. It really does. Losing a parent is one of the worst things that can happen. It tears apart adults so you can imagine what it does to a child.

And I don't understand why it has to happen. It's something I struggle with every day. Why couldn't any of those factors have changed, even slightly? And you might say that billions of miracles happen every day. That people are constantly saved from things like this happening.

And I'd ask, "why not one more?"

If I had a chance to speak with Cooper, I'd tell him how sorry I am that this happened to him. That I understand what he's going through. I'd try and help him navigate the coming days, months, and years...in hopes that he might not make the same mistakes I made. That he doesn't allow the sadness and hatred and anger to envelop him. That he might find a way to get beyond this a stronger person.

And I'd simply wish that he didn't ask me any question that started with the word "why?" Because, to this day, I don't have the answer to those questions. They're questions I still have, and I will have until someone can answer them.

I hate that this happened to him. I cried last night. And I've been sad all day. I feel terrible for Cooper, but I also feel sorry for the 50-year-old fan who couldn't save Shannon. I feel sorry for Brad Ziegler, who watched it happen and cried himself last night. And I feel sorry for Josh Hamilton, who will certainly internalize this.

No part of this story isn't sad. I can't help but visualize what Cooper must have felt like when he watched his father fall. When he saw paramedics rush to his side. When some stranger came and took him to some mysterious room in the bowels of the ballpark. When he was rushed to some strange hospital. And when he had to travel home without the man he came with.

He must have been so scared all night. And the night only got worse from there.

I don't know how to end this. So I'm just going to stop. But I hope that you realize that life is so fragile. Any of us could die at any moment so try and celebrate every moment you have with the people around you. Hug your loved ones. Tell them that you love them. And live for as long as you can.