I suppose that I was in shock. There can’t be anyway that you are supposed to react to that kind of statement. I didn’t collapse to the ground or start moaning and wailing like in the movies. To be honest, I didn’t even weep.
I had the wherewithal to offer my shoulder for my mother to cry on but other than that I was numb. I don’t think I got what was going on. I knew; but I didn’t get it. I can’t explain any better than that.
After a minute, Mom explained that he had been hooking up a trailer to his tractor and as he was connecting the cables, the brake either slipped or wasn’t set properly and the tractor rolled back into the trailer, pinning Ryan between the truck and the corner of the trailer. My neighbor, a mortician, and the man who took care of the burial arrangements, told me later that the level of injury Ryan sustained was such that he was gone instantly; he didn’t have time to suffer.
In the days to follow, we were able to work together a rough timeline of events. Mom talked to Ryan on the phone about fifteen minutes before the accident. They had a short conversation and as she has always done with her kids, she told him she loved him when they said good bye. He told her that he loved her too, then hung up.
Uncle B’s brother (who also worked at the company) saw him heading out to where his cab was, and then a few minutes after that he found Ryan pinned. He called for help and moved the truck to get him free. 911 was called immediately and CPR was started. The chaplain who worked with the EMT’s and police told us later that the company workers who were doing the CPR did it so well that the paramedics did not replace them. They were able to begin other life saving processes without interrupting the CPR. It was very comforting to know that EVERYTHING that could have been done; was. Nobody goofed up, no one made a critical error. It just was what it was. Time to go.
As I stood there on the porch of the emergency room attempting to comfort my mother, a news van pulled into the parking lot. It made me mad.
When Punk had her surgery earlier in the week, there was a high profile, media driven circus going on at Primary’s. Another experimental surgery was taking place at the same time as Punks, and the media was ALL over it. The headlines for the better part of a week was about this surgery. It irritated me (and my sister, though she’d never admit it), that this was getting so much attention while other equally miraculous doings were ignored.
Jealousy? Might have been a little, but what really set me off was that the family at the center of this attention was really rotten. On camera it was sweetness and humility. When the cameras weren’t rolling, it was selfish, egotistical, narcissism.
A celebrity came to sign autographs. Everyone lined up except for “mommy”, who loudly stated “I’m the mother of the twins, and I have to get back to them quickly, so I’m going to go right to the front.” And you know, it was ok. Because everyone else in line at the hospital that day was just there for the tours and free donuts.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!!!
I could go on, but I won’t. We’ll just say that the sense of entitlement was astonishing, and it was powered by news feeds and refueled by “live reports”. It made me so mad I wrote a letter to the editor decrying the media intrusion into a place where families who did not get as happy an ending as this famous family did had to sit amidst the cheering circus and try to grieve or mourn.
The letter was published in the Tribune the day Ryan died.
And now, with the news of my brother’s death still ringing in my ears, a news truck pulls up to get the “dirt”. I told the Deputy that we had nothing to say to them and that if someone put a microphone or a camera in anyone's face, I was gonna perform an impromptu colonoscopy with it.
OK. It wasn’t quite that eloquent (I think what I actually said was that there’d be a fight), but I was in defense mode and wanting to get some answers, not give them. Especially to a bunch of clowns I was already mad at to begin with.
The Deputy, an imposing fellow with the kindest face you ever saw, assured me no news people would get anywhere near us. Feeling protected, I went inside and found a restroom. I walked over to the sink and looked into the mirror. It was still kind of an “out of body” thing. I looked at myself and said out loud, “Well. Life as you knew it is now officially over.”
I called the Boss.
I could fill another thirty pages with the rest of the day. One of the great oddities of shock is that you are numb in the moment and unable to act or think but for some reason the memory recorder is going full blast with double barrels.
The worst memories of my life took place over the next few hours and days. But one of the good things that I see in any of them is my brother in law.
His connection to my family was distant at best, being married to my wife’s sister. He was on vacation; his break from difficult and demanding school work, yet he stayed the whole day. He was three steps ahead of every need. He ran errands, made phone calls and made himself useful in a thousand ways. With everyone else in shock, we had the blessing of a calm and clear Brother who cared for us and made sure that nothing important got overlooked in those first few hours. When inspiration struck and I needed a camera, he had one (I took a photo of the sunset over the Great Salt Lake on the last day my brother’s mortal eyes would see. I wrote a poem that night that is posted below). When we needed someone to go to the trucking company and get Ryan’s car, he volunteered.
How do you pay THAT back?
After a very long day, I got home around ten and flipped the TV on without thinking. Since no one from our family or the trucking company was talking, the reporters had started guessing. First, they said he’d been trapped for as long as five hours, which thanks to that call Ryan made to my mother, we knew was B.S.
Some of my family got the call that Ryan was gone only to be told on TV by an ignorant “on the scene” reporter that he was still alive but in critical condition and being transported to the hospital via life flight. It was news to us.
They got stonewalled by everyone involved, so the media just made it up as they went. Worst of all, when I flipped on the TV that night, I was immediately greeted with the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I should have known better, but I still wasn’t thinking clearly.
The jerks had flown a news chopper over the yard and hovered there over the paramedics as they worked in vain to save my brother’s life. The last physical images I have of my brother were provided to me by a news chopper hovering over his body like a damn vulture.
I didn’t need to see that. My parents surely didn’t need to see that. And total strangers sure as hell didn’t need to see that.
I equate it to pornography. They took an image of something that was none of the public's business, but because it was shocking they offered it to the curious masses to improve ratings and make a buck. It’s evil.
Now, I‘m sure they can make a case for it being journalistically ethical. But ethics are one thing and morals are another. It was morally reprehensible.
The media took the pain and suffering of a family who was loud and clear in their desire for the events of the day to remain private and then publicized their half truths for financial gain. Three and a half years later, none of the people the media were trying to titillate with that footage remember it. Just those of us who have to live with the memories of their irresponsibility.
To this day, if I’m watching the news and footage of a fatal crash or accident comes on, I change the channel as quick as I can. I feel sorrow for the family and shame that I belong to a society that requires so much intrusion into private grief.
And that, faithful readers, is why I hate TV news reporters.
Up next, Part 6: How Was the Theater?
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