Parenting
By Emily Carter
April 8, 2023
From a young age, I’ve grappled with an intense fear of spiders. A relative of mine is still afraid of the dark as an adult. During my time teaching high school English, I witnessed students frozen with fear at the thought of speaking publicly. From heights to mortality, everyone has their own fears. But once we become parents, those fears evolve.
Ask any parent, and they’ll likely agree that their greatest fear is losing a child. This is the anxiety that disrupts our sleep and quickens our hearts as we watch them venture out on their own. What would we do? How would we cope? Yet, despite understanding the depths of this anguish, we often respond with harsh judgment toward those who experience such tragedies.
In 2016, a toddler named Jake was playing at a Disney resort when an alligator snatched him from his parents, who could only watch in horror. Last spring, a 5-year-old boy named Max lost his life after becoming trapped in a rotating restaurant booth in Atlanta. Most recently, a boy named Leo, just shy of his fourth birthday, tragically died when a small ball lodged in his throat as his mother desperately attempted to save him.
We hear about children who fall from tractors or collide with trees while sledding. Kids have died from bee stings or nut allergies their parents weren’t aware of.
So what are we to do as parents? Wrap our children in bubble wrap to keep them safe? Eliminate all toys from our homes? Ban bees and nuts from existence? Avoid taking them on trips altogether? What kind of life would that be for them?
When Jake’s story unfolded, I felt a profound sadness. My family visited Disney around that same time. I wondered if I would have allowed my children to wade in that water. Most likely, yes. Would I have taken them to a unique rotating restaurant? Absolutely, even though my own 5-year-old, like Max, might fidget with excitement. And yes, we have had small balls in our home.
My children often ride on the tractor with their grandfather. My son has a nut allergy. Yet, we continue to embrace life, fully aware that tragedy can strike at any moment. We take precautions—seat belts, helmets, and carrying an EpiPen. We are not so different from Jake’s, Max’s, or Leo’s parents.
The truth is, none of us are immune to accidents. None of us can guarantee our children’s safety. So why do we judge parents in the aftermath of unimaginable loss?
Why do we hurl cruel comments like “You should have known better than to let him play there” at Jake’s father, who bravely attempted to rescue his son from the alligator? Or “Why didn’t you supervise your child better?” directed at Max’s parents, or “Why did you allow those small balls in your house, knowing they could choke?” to Leo’s mother?
Don’t we think these parents are already aware of these risks? Don’t they wish they could turn back time and make different decisions? If they could, they would likely do everything in their power to keep their child safe.
What do we gain by judging grieving parents during their worst moments? A false sense of superiority? Is this how we cope with the fear of “What if this happens to me?” by projecting our insecurities onto those already in pain?
The reality is, we can’t say “That would never happen to me.” We might think we know the dangers—like alligators in Florida—but what if we face a different threat elsewhere, like a tornado? Those parents likely understand the risk better than anyone after their horrific experience. If something were to happen to us, they wouldn’t condemn us for our mistakes. They would offer compassion.
When Jake tragically lost his life, I tied a blue ribbon to a tree outside my house. It was a gesture of solidarity not only for him but also for his grieving parents. They don’t know about my ribbon, and that’s fine. It was my way of expressing my sorrow and fear for my own children, choosing to grieve with them rather than judge.
Every time I blow out birthday candles or toss a coin into a fountain, I wish for my children to have long, healthy lives. This wish, however, comes with no guarantees. I can only imagine that grieving parents share similar hopes.
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In conclusion, we must choose empathy over judgment. When tragedy strikes, parents need our compassion, not our criticism.