A Fierce Defender and Protector

Connor was always attracted to helping others, especially in times of perceived danger or need. I can think of twice when a car accident happened right in front of us and he would leap out of the car, rush over and see if everyone was okay.  Once, a woman sat on the curb holding her head and he sat next to her telling her it was okay and that the ambulance was coming.  He couldn’t have been but 12 years old. 

One time I took him and his brother to dinner and a pickup truck came barreling around the corner.  If Connor hadn’t yelled and jumped at the driver, I’m not sure what would’ve happened.  Connor was older then (maybe 17) and had a few choice words for the driver who had been on his phone.

On his last international trip with his father, he met some new friends.  They were hanging out very late one night and on the way back to the hotel, they saw a homeless man being picked on.  He and his new friends defended the homeless man from the bullies.  I’m not sure he wanted to tell me that story when he returned, but the scratches on his hands told me something happened even if I don’t fully know the true extent.  He said “all you need to know is we protected the defenseless.”

As I think about his Halloween costume choices through the years, he was always the “defender” or the good guy fighting evil.  He was a solider one year, Harry Potter another.

He was a fierce defender of his younger brother.  If he had any sense that someone was bullying him, he was the first to help in any way he could.   I wish he was still here to help his brother navigate the last few years of high school when emotions can run high and rational thoughts don’t always prevail. 

He was most protective of me.  From the time he was little, he would always want to hold my hand to cross the street – not because he was little and needed help, but because he wanted to keep me safe.  He always made sure I got in the car first at night and he would have constant watch to make sure nobody was coming towards us. 

Leaving parents weekend at the fraternity house last year, he had his hand on my back the entire way back to my car. His view was that it was his job to keep me safe.  But I’m the parent.  I am the one who needed to keep him safe.  It was my job to protect him and I hate that I couldn’t that fateful night.  Despite the warning to ride safe. Despite the pleas to not ride at night. None of it mattered.  I wasn’t there. I couldn’t stop it.  

I’ve wrestled with what I could’ve done differently, but nothing I come up with could’ve saved him.  It was an ordinary Thursday night.  I was supposed to see him the next night for dinner… we were going to have a mother/son date where I know he would’ve walked me to my car and kept constant watch on the people around until I was safely inside.   ∞