Angel Answers Mother’s Prayers
Ed Lowe graciously printed the letter that I wrote to him in Newsday. 
(11/26/03)
The outpouring of beautiful sentiments, support, compassion, empathy, friendship, and love after this appeared in the newspaper—mostly from people I’d never met, and still haven’t— has changed me forever. I am forever in awe of the response. I am forever grateful to Mr. Lowe.
I must be having a bad night … another bad night. Otherwise why would I be telling you this? I tell myself it’s to remind myself of the good in people that somehow outweighs the bad in others.
On July 27th of this year, my life fell apart in a way that no one can possibly understand. Not even those people that think they share this misery. Because, Mr. Lowe, I truly believe that NO ONE can understand this kind of personal loss and no one should ever have to. It’s too awful. It’s too devastating. There are no words.
On July 27th my only child, my wonderful son, my loving sweet and impossibly perfect Seth, died. (See: “Crash Kills Recent Grad / Commack teen’s life was full of friends, sports and plans, July 29.)
“That was the day I died as well. My husband tells me he lost his son and his wife that day. I can’t begin to tell you.
Seth was NEVER late … He always called. If he was going to be late – after 11:30 – he’d tell me. Sometimes to the point of being annoying. He’d call every 10 or 15 minutes with updates.
That night … he’d called earlier and said he was with his girlfriend in Kings Park. At 11:30 he wasn’t home; he hadn’t called, and I was concerned. I never felt anger, just a puzzling sort of concern. I waited. And waited. I called his cell phone. He didn’t answer.
… I left messages. ‘Seth, I don’t care where you are, just call and tell me.’ ‘Seth, I’m getting nervous, just call!’ ‘Seth PLEASE call me, PLEASE.’
“It was around 2 a.m. I was in the living room sitting in the dark with just the light of a muted TV, grasping the phone, willing it to ring. I saw headlights and saw a car pull in front of the house … Something was wrong. The car wasn’t pulling up enough. Seth always pulled up to the second tree. Then, by the moonlight, I saw two people walking up the driveway. I ran to the door. Two detectives. A man and a woman.
“‘Do you have a son?’ they asked. ‘May we come in?’ ‘Wait … wait … wait … I have to get my husband … wait!’ I felt the terror building inside of me as I screamed for my husband, Seth’s wonderful stepdad, to please come – the police were here.
They told us, and my world imploded. I begged them to leave to stop lying to make it stop, to DO SOMETHING! They were amazing. I don’t know how they do it. They waited till my sister got there. And then when it was obvious that we still needed more, they waited till my brother got there. Then, in the middle of night, Seth’s friends started to arrive.
The next morning … I looked outside. His friends – some 50 of them – were gathering on the front lawn. They asked me to join them, and we sat on the grass as one after another told me of some memory, some story that they shared with Seth. One after another called him their best friend.
A month later, I got a letter from the Social Security Administration … I was claiming Seth had died on the 27th; the death certificate said the 28th! It said 3 a.m. on the 28th. I was thrown back to that horrible night, when all I needed to know was that he hadn’t suffered. That he wasn’t frightened. That I hadn’t let him down by not being there. I’d been told it happened so fast. Nothing I could do. He couldn’t have suffered. Now I’m being told by a piece of paper that he’d been trapped in that car for 4 hours! No one called me; no one came to get me; no one let me hold my baby.
I don’t know what losing your only child is supposed to feel like. I don’t know how to deal with this loss … I don’t know who’s in charge of making this all go away … I didn’t have any idea how to get an answer to my prayer. I prayed and prayed and wept and screamed. I needed to know that Seth wasn’t frightened, that he didn’t suffer. I NEEDED to know.
Mr. Lowe, an angel found her way to me … On October 25th, I got a letter in the mail [from]a complete stranger. Her name is … Callahan, and her address was here in Commack. I opened it, truly expecting it to be a personalized, ‘Vote For Me’ letter. Let me quote some of what she wrote:
“I live [in] the second house on the left from Kings Park Road. I heard the accident at 11:05 p.m. … I dialed 911 at 11:06 p.m., as I ran out the door, around the corner, and down the block, barefoot. When I arrived, I asked your son if he could hear me, and he responded by nodding his head. I said to him, ‘Help is on the way. You’re going to be ok.’ He was calm and quiet. Then his body completely relaxed. I truly believe he felt no pain and died peacefully. I yelled at him, ‘Honey please hang on!’ Yet, in my heart I knew he was gone. I walked home and prayed for you, his dad, and his family. My heart has never felt so sad. Your son touched my heart in some unknown way … I attended his funeral, where I learned so many wonderful things about your son. As a mom, I think I would want to know that my child died in peace, not pain, and that there was another Mom with him …”
Because of Mrs. Callahan’s letter, I have found some peace. No angel can take away the pain, can fill the hole in my heart … But she helped – she answered my prayers for answers.
Thanks for listening … Please take a minute to visit http://www.sethbaumgartner.com
Roberta Teer
Commack, NY
I remember reading this. I cried. I wish now I’d told you how much your letter menat to me. It was sad but beautiful.