Before that fatal Sunday afternoon, the Wesenberg family’s life had been cheerful, loving, and full of affection. It felt like a sanctuary, a place where Paul and Linda, both in their early forties, could raise their kids in peace. Their youngest kid, Ted, was only nine years old at the time, and their oldest, Clark, was twelve. Their family had discovered happiness in the little things, like the sound of laughter at the dinner table, Ted’s pleasure when he displayed his most recent artwork, and Clark’s subdued yet sly smile when he assisted his father in the garage. They had each other, and that was all.
With sunlight pouring through the windows and the aroma of pancakes filling the air from the kitchen, the day had begun like any other. Paul had assured the lads that they would pool in the backyard on this Sunday afternoon. In anticipation of spending a quiet day with her family, Linda had prepared a little barbecue for later. The environment was ideal, or at least that was the plan.
In the pool, Ted was trying to demonstrate his improved swimming skills while Paul laughed and splashed around. The sound of his brother’s playful speech and the slight sound of the water filled the air while Clark sat on the sidelines, reading a book. When Linda heard the sudden hush, she was on the terrace, arranging the food. It was odd, the typical splashing sound replaced by a thick calm. She initially didn’t give it much attention, supposing they were simply taking a rest. Her heart, however, halted when she looked up.
Ted floated in the pool, quite still.
It burned like a horror into her head. Her breath froze in her throat and her eyes widened even more. “Ted!” she cried, running to the swimming pool. Her hands were fumbling for something firm to grasp onto while her feet stumbled on the grass.
Already in the water, Paul was swimming frantically. Reaching Ted, he dragged him to the edge as he felt for a pulse and any other indication of life. There was nothing, despite his muttering, “No, no, no…” Ted had closed his eyes and had pale blue lips.
“Paul!” Linda sank beside them, sobbing, her voice cracking. “Paul, please, do something!”
Paul didn’t think. With a look of shock and worry on his face, he started CPR on Ted by applying intense pressure on his chest. As she saw him struggle to save his son’s life, Linda’s hands hung helplessly over his lifeless body, and she gasped for air.
However, Ted was still dead.
It was too late when the paramedics came, but they took over right away. They had nothing to do about it. There was no optimism in the abruptness of it all—the shock, the incredulity. Their world collapsed in that instant, and the pool that had brought them joy had turned into a tomb.
Linda’s funeral was a haze. The faces of those who came to express their condolences were very faint in her memory, and the soft mutterings of their sympathies were simply a faint hum. She sat through the service looking as though she were in a trance—pale, hollow-eyed, and unblinking. With her hands in her lap, lifeless and unresponsive, she gazed straight ahead at nothing. She was unable to really accept what had transpired. She couldn’t have. What kind of mother would bury her child?
Although Paul’s anguish showed up as rage, he was also broken. He had plunged himself into the aftermath of Ted’s passing with a nearly destructive zeal. Though there were times of silence and overwhelming grief, his words were incisive and blame-filled. He aimed it towards Linda, as though the accusation would somehow allow him to assign responsibility for the incident to someone else. He transferred his guilt outside because he was unable to forgive himself for failing to protect Ted.
“Why weren’t you watching him?” Paul would yell in a gruff, emotionally charged voice. That’s exactly what you were, Linda! What made you let him to—”
“Don’t you dare,” Linda would reply in a tremulous murmur. Think I’ll have an easy time of this? Do you really think I don’t wish I could have prevented him from entering the swimming pool? “You believe I—”
Words would get more intense, descending into a poisonous whirlpool of remorse and charges. The weight of loss was too heavy for either of them to escape, and neither of them understood how to grieve without lashing out. The home that served as a haven turned into a battlefield for their unresolved suffering. It was as though the grief and hatred had been absorbed by the walls themselves, intensified, and eventually consumed them both.
In the meantime, the surviving son, Clark, withdrew into himself. The flood of feelings that raged inside of him was beyond his ability to articulate. He had an indescribable sense of longing for Ted. He had lost that part of himself, and they had been best friends as much as brothers. He was more affected by the loss of the once-complete family than anything else. The comfort of knowing his parents were there, the shared laughs, the calm dinners—all of that was gone now.
From the shadows, he observed his parents’ arguments and the cracking of their voices as they struggled with their sorrow. Why they couldn’t see him and feel his suffering, Clark couldn’t comprehend. He wanted to be hugged, to be told that everything would be alright, but his parents were too preoccupied with their own problems to notice. Now he didn’t seem to be noticed.
As Paul and Linda’s disputes intensified once more one evening, Clark finally lost it. The agony within him had grown intolerable, and the tension in the home had escalated to a fever pitch. He had had enough of the accusations, the shouting, and the misery that hovered in the air like a persistent cloud.
His face contorted in wrath and grief, he stormed into their bedroom. “Mom! Dad! Please!” Tears fell from his eyes as his voice broke. “End the battle! I can no longer stand it.”
However, the sound of their sorrow drowned out his cries. Linda and Paul didn’t even pause to gaze at him. Too preoccupied with their own suffering to listen to him, their eyes were empty.
With a racing heart, Clark bolted from the room. Curling up on his bed as the sobs ripped through his tiny frame, he locked himself in his bedroom. He felt completely alone in his own house, as if he were a ghost. He wished to vanish. He desired to awaken from the bad dream.
In the days that followed, Clark started to distance himself even more. His only escape from the ongoing stress in the house was to hide out in the treehouse out back or the attic, so he began skipping school. He could not, however, escape the emptiness no matter where he went.
A tiny, dusty box was discovered in the attic one day. It included a number of old photographs, relics of happier times when his family had been complete. Each picture served as a reminder of what had been lost as he traced it with his fingertips.
Even so, Clark managed to cling to a glimmer of optimism despite his grief. He had a gut feeling that his family could yet be saved. Despite their brokenness, they remained his family. And it’s possible that they will eventually find their way back to one another.
There would be a delay. Furthermore, healing would be required. Even though he was lonely, Clark didn’t give up on the idea that they could put their lives back together, provided his parents could see him and each other through the fog of their sorrow.
