'Could've, would've, should've': Reflecting on Caden's unfinished life

Saturday was the second anniversary of the deaths of 13-year-old Caden Vincent Odell and his mother, Erin Thompson, in a horrific, homicidal automobile crash.

Hardly a day goes by when I don’t think of Caden — the devilish angel who lived next door to me for many years and was my son’s best friend from practically the day he was born.

Yes, sometimes I think of how Caden died — what terror he and his mother must have experienced in their final seconds as another car veered unswervingly, apparently intentionally, into their path and then crashed into them at 80 miles per hour.

Such thoughts, and the awful images that accompany them, are probably unavoidable. Not infrequently they bring tears to my eyes — suddenly, unexpectedly, often in public, perhaps while waiting for a concert to begin or sitting in a doctor’s office.

Any moment of quiet can turn into a moment of meditation, and meditation often reflects upon the meaning of life — and it is that which usually brings my thoughts to Caden and his dear mother.

They both, I think, exemplified the searching, yearning, adventurous spirit that ultimately gives life meaning. They were also both kind and generous people, whose inner goodness shined on their faces. Both were blessed with incandescent smiles and dancing, dazzling eyes that were an advertisement for life lived well.

It is natural, therefore, that from time to time I ponder what has been lost by the absence of Caden and Erin in the world. I never had any doubt that Caden would accomplish something remarkable with his life. He had the drive and determination — and most importantly the confidence — to be successful at anything he chose to do. He “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve” been someone that changed the whole world instead of just a small part of it.

But that chance is gone now.

So too was the chance for him to be a “big brother” to the new baby that his mom was expecting when she died. Erin and her husband were robbed of so much when she died, thus adding to the grief of those left behind. All of us know it was not just two lives, but three, that were snuffed out — and countless lives beyond that which are now forever changed.

For both Erin and Caden, the last word has been written. Yet what a wonderful testament they left behind — in the love showered upon them, the smiles they still can bring to our lips, the lessons we have learned.

It is their spirit which I think of now, two years later, as I confront a world that continues to provide a thousand reasons to despair, a million faces in shadow, a litany of disaster and decay. The fact that the teen-age girl who drove head-on into Erin’s car was convicted of deliberate homicide in February is not really any kind of relief, just more proof of the heartbreak of human life. The fact that even after being convicted, this girl still does not accept responsibility for the deaths she caused and has asked a judge to find her not guilty just prolongs the agony for Caden and Erin’s friends and loved ones.

But we must not surrender to hopelessness. The loss of Caden and Erin to brutal circumstance cannot diminish the gift of their presence on this earth in the first place.

So when I feel myself giving in to despair — whether over the deaths of friends and family, or the tragic horror of Japan’s devastation or the hopelessness of the Mideast — I summon up the angel of Caden and turn away my anger.

“Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”

Let us heed the words of the Psalmist and set aside only a portion of our life for sadness. No matter what circumstances life may throw at us, no matter how others seek to evade responsibility for their actions, let us remember that “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

Caden and Erin were not granted long life, but they were able to achieve good lives. We who are brokenhearted in their absence should remember that lesson. We all have the ability to live good lives, to live honorable lives — and dignified lives — no matter how cruel life has been to us. The tales of heroism and dignity among the inmates of the Nazi concentration camps have taught us that indelibly.

None of us will ever have a life free of sorrow, but none of us should surrender to sorrow either. As long as we are left behind, we have an obligation to keep going, to continue ahead into the unknown, to explore today and tomorrow with vigor. That is the greatest tribute we can pay to those who have fallen before us. Their unfinished lives must forever inspire those of us who have been lucky enough to survive them.