In the last few days I’ve been thinking about healing.
The thoughts began with seeing photos of 6-year-old Cooper Stone visiting Rangers Ballpark in Arlington, Texas, where his father fell to his death July 7.
You remember: Cooper had watched as his father, Shannon, reached for a ball thrown into the stands by Cooper’s favorite player, Josh Hamilton, only to lose his balance and fall to concrete 20 feet below.
Shannon kept consciousness long enough to ask people to look out for his son; then he died.
Less than three months later, Cooper returned to the park to throw out the ceremonial first pitch before Texas’ playoff opener with Tampa Bay. He threw it, of course, to Hamilton.
Hamilton grappled with what to say to Cooper and his mother, Jenny, but the right words came — providentially.
“I’m not good with speeches,” Hamilton said. “Not good with knowing what I’m going to say before. Because I rehearse it too much and it don’t sound genuine.
“So I just kind of let it happen. It worked out good. … You could tell she was really emotional about coming back to the park,” Hamilton said about Jenny.
“The little one, he’s young enough where he understands but at the same time it’s not as emotional for him as it is mom.”
One has the feeling that Jenny went through the experience of visiting the place her husband died for Cooper’s sake.
“They have turned a difficult return to The Ballpark into a once-in-a-lifetime experience for Cooper,” she said in a statement. “Nothing could be more exciting for a boy than throwing out the first pitch to his favourite player.”
Healing is a process, a journey — often a long one — but from the look on Cooper’s face in The Associated Press photos of the day, it appears that at least that journey has begun.
To see the photos, go over to Newser.com, find the sports category (under “more”) and scroll down to the story. It’s worth your time.
And it’s worth your time to find a recent Religion News Service story about Terri Roberts.
If the name doesn’t ring a bell, try that of Charlie Roberts, her son.
If that doesn’t do it, try 10 Amish schoolgirls shot in Nickel Mines, Pa., in 2006.
Charlie was the shooter.
Three girls died at the scene, two more died the next day. Five were seriously injured. After shooting the girls, Charlie killed himself.
In a suicide note, the 32-year-old said he was angry at God for the miscarriage of his first child.
I bet you remember this: The response of the Amish community was exemplary, amazing, gracious — pick your adjective.
A grandfather of a murdered girl told his pastor, “We must not think evil of this man.”
Within hours of the tragedy, an Amish neighbor went to the home of Charlie’s parents to comfort Terri and her husband, Chuck. Dozens of Amish neighbors attended Charlie’s funeral.
The Religion News Service story tells of the Robertses’ response to that kindness.
Three months after the shooting, Charlie’s parents began visiting the victims and their families, and Terri started inviting the surviving girls and their mothers to picnics and tea parties at her home.
Think of that.
And they came. Think of that.
Then Terri found the nerve, the heart, the — pick your adjective — to begin visiting Rosanna King, the most damaged of the survivors of her son’s rampage.
Terri, the story says, bathes and talks to the paralyzed girl weekly, brushes her hair and sings hymns.
The story continues: “After the first few visits, Terri cried all the way home. ‘Lord, I can’t do this,’ she said. But she went back the next week, and the next.”
Pain — off-the-chart pain — all the way around.
I’m not naïve enough to think that emotional healing, let alone the beginning of emotional healing, takes away all pain. But with so many things, people, situations today appearing beyond healing, I find it healing to simply see it in progress.
Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.
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