The Loss of a Child

The following is a letter to the family of Valerie Hamilton, a 23 year old woman who disappeared and died under mysterious circumstances a few days ago.  Her father was the Assistant Chief of Police in Hickory when I started here, and subsequently moved on to be the Chief of Police in Concord, North Carolina a few years ago.

Dear Merl, Susan and Sarah,

When you turn on the television and see something about a tragedy that’s happened, it’s easy to think, “That’s so terrible,” and move on to whatever is next on your agenda. We can do that because whatever is happening has happened to “them”, out “there".

It’s when you recognize a name on the story as someone that you know, not just an anonymous face or public person, but a human being with whom you are actually acquainted that things start to take on a different meaning.

It was not until other people I knew online started posting messages that I realized the young woman they were talking about was your daughter and sister. When you moved from Hickory, she was still a teenager. I remember meeting both of your daughters once downtown at some event, but it was one of those passing things. They were being polite, meeting someone that dad worked with but really eager to get on with the fun.

What I remember, though, is thinking that you brought them up right. They engaged in conversation beyond “yeah” and “nah” and they endured my questions and comments better than most young ladies would. I had a chance to watch you interact with them, too, Merl. You were firm about something – I couldn’t hear, but knew the facial expression. In your firmness, though, it was also obvious that you loved your daughters with all your heart.

When the story first broke on the news, I had the typical reaction. I commented that the girl’s parents must be sick with worry over what happened to her. Then I heard the name and realized that I knew this family.

The grief and concern of your family was suddenly up close and personal. It was no longer the pain of a parent in the abstract. It involved someone I actually knew and I hurt for your family as you went through the tragedy of first looking for Valerie, and then the grief of finding her and realizing that she was no more a physical part of your lives.

I can’t say that I understand how you feel. The anguish of losing a child, especially one who you’ve nurtured to the point of young adulthood, is beyond my imagination. The emptiness of knowing that nothing in your life will ever again be the same must be overwhelming, and I ache for you.

The support and concern of your friends – both the ones you knew were your friends, and the ones of which you weren’t necessarily aware – is obviously appreciated but is nothing compared to the yearn for just one more hug from your daughter, and the “I wish” thoughts that will inevitably creep into your minds in the future.

I wish she’d still lived with us instead of moving out on her own.
I wish she’d just come for dinner that night.
I wish we’d talked with her more about being aware of her surroundings.
I wish I could trade places with her and make her all right again.

I admire the way your family has shared your loss with others, and the concern for young women like your daughter that you’ve expressed. Merl’s message on national television that, “We have to educate our young women more about their personal safety,” is heartwarming. The fact that you can see through your own grief with concern for others says a great deal about your character, even in these darkest of times.

It did not fall on deaf ears. We have talked with our own teenage children about how they have to be constantly vigilant of their surroundings, and how people are not always what they seem. We have insisted that they watch the news coverage of your tragedy, and they’ve begun to comprehend why we continue to hold the reins and worry about their desire for freedom from oversight.

I mourn for your family. Not only for what you’ve gone through, but for what I know you will go through in the future. Because of Merl’s career in law enforcement, you know what will happen in the court proceedings, and in the media. Stories and speculation will come out, and some of those things will hurt, even if you know in your heart they are not true. You know your daughter and her character, and because of that you know that some of the things that will be said – and accepted as accurate – are simply not.

Do not let this speculation hurt your memories of your daughter whom you loved and raised. She was a good and caring person, with goals and dreams for life and contributions to make. You know the true essence of her being, and no matter what anyone says, that cannot be tarnished. She was, and always will be, your little girl and sister.

Whatever good may come from this, no matter how much time passes, I am sorry for your loss. No parent should ever have to endure the loss of their child. I hope you know how much others care for you and share your pain and would like to take some of that burden for you. I also know that we cannot, that this burden falls uniquely to your family.

So many of us are thinking of your family. I hope you feel that through your grief and that it brings you some level of comfort.

I hope you find peace, and know that you are in the thoughts of the many friends and acquaintances who hold you in our hearts.