A Personal Message: WANTING SOMETHING BACK THAT I CAN NEVER HAVE
By: Brian Hoeflinger, MD
Disclaimer: Opinions are my own. Not medical advice.
I sit here at home on a Friday night thinking of my son Brian and knowing that his death can make a difference in someone’s life who is about to read this newsletter. You see, our son Brian was 18 years old and a senior in high school when his car struck a tree head on late one Friday night. He died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. We never had a chance to say goodbye to him. Life can change in the blink of an eye. I miss him everyday.
There is a special feeling of peace and joy as a parent when you know that your kids are safe. Even as they grow up and move out, you know that they are there and you can see them if you want. That's how life is supposed to work. For us, our son Brian left one night to go out with friends and never came back home. It's been 11 years of emptiness since that Friday night, February 1, 2013. The worst day of my life.
Life has changed so drastically since then and yet, life moves on without him. I feel like I am still waiting for him to come home and walk through our front door. Even though it makes no sense, either your mind or heart or both trick you for just a split second to think he may be down the hall in his room studying for school or getting ready for bed. I quickly walk down the hall to his room only to find it quiet, dark, and empty. All the tangible reminders that our son Brian once existed now gone. You see, in the order of things, being young should lead to getting old. For most it does but for too many, it does not. Their souls are lost to this material world and replaced only by memories. Memories of days gone by when my heart was filled with love, happiness and contentment. Warm summer days playing golf with my son. His unmistakable smile and wink from his eye when he wanted to catch your attention. His rousing of the dogs when he would come home each day from school. Memories that conjure such strong emotions of what life used to be and of what life could have been.
I hope everyone who is reading this letter right now will stop at this very moment, pause and think of your family, especially your children. Think of how it feels right now to knowing that they are in your lives and safe. For those of you who have lost a child, you will better understand what I am about to say. When I was standing over my son's cold, dead body in the emergency department 11 years ago and trying to convince myself that this nightmare was real and that he was actually dead, I realized at that very moment that there is so much more to life than what you think you already have. All I wanted at that exact moment, more than anything I have ever wanted in my entire life, was for him to open his eyes and say, "Dad, I'm OK. Let’s go home”. I would have instantaneously traded my life at that moment to be there lying dead in exchange for my son to live again. But that’s not how life works. I was forced against my will to face the fact that my son Brian would never be coming home with us again. It’s a harsh reality to face as there is no amount of money, power or wealth that can bring someone back from the dead.
Do not take your life and what you have in it for granted. You have so much more to be thankful for than you think. Please do not wait for a tragedy to happen before you realize this. Spend time with your children as much as you can and let them know that they are loved because no one is promised tomorrow. We just expect it.
To my son Brian, I hope that you feel loved and are at peace wherever you may be. Know that your mother and I would give anything including our lives to have you back at home safe and sound with us again. I can only hope and pray that someday we will be reunited as a family and then I will feel whole and content once more. Your Dad
Rest in peace Brian Nicholas Hoeflinger 12/28/1994 - 2/2/2013. You are beyond loved and missed in this world.
Best wishes,
Brian Hoeflinger
For anyone interested, you can learn more about my son's death and its aftermath in my book, The Night He Died.
https://www.brianmatters.com/store/p/ubiwmtw0n02fhzgbhxnsyovpapvpo8
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