My father was not an atheist, no matter what he may have told you.
He was rather a grieving grandpa who witnessed the death of his first grandson, my son Ben, on an operating table at Cook County Hospital, a cataclysm which so profoundly shook the fragile architecture of his belief in God that I wondered if any of it would remain standing when the dust settled.
Earlier that morning, the phones had been ringing off the hooks. I picked up one of the lines to help out. I heard the voice of a stranger.
Busch?" he queried.
"Speaking," I reluctantly admitted for I knew, with a parent's intuition, he was not the bearer of good news.
"Mr. Busch. My name is Dr. Ibrahim Yosef, chief of emergency surgery at Cook County Hospital."
"Yes, doctor," I acknowledged nervously.
"Are you the father of Benjamin Busch?"
"Yes, I am," girding myself for the worst.
"Your son has arrived by fire department ambulance, having sustained massive, critical injuries in a traffic accident."
At that instant, I felt like I'd been struck by the same truck I later learned had run Ben over.
"Mr. Busch, Ben requires immediate surgical intervention."
I tried to speak but my words were stuck.
"Mr. Busch," his voice now emphatically urgent, "I suggest you come to the hospital right away!"
"Suggest!" I repeated. Digesting the ominous meaning of his "suggestion," I sped away to the hospital in a state of controlled desperation. I knew how this day would end.
While a team of doctors and nurses worked feverishly to save my son's life, my dad --whom I had never before seen pray -- cried out to the Master of the Universe to spare the life of his grandson, who had been crushed under the rear wheels of a 26-foot long moving van. And though he (and I) pled desperately with the Almighty for His immediate intercession, it was not meant to be. The spark of life in Ben flickered out.
"I must admit to you, Alan, I don't understand how you've done it," my father told me on more than one occasion. "Your brother and I were talking about you the other day," he added, "and we both agree that neither of us could have done what you did."
He can either choose life accompanied by the permanent presence of grief or he becomes busy with dying.
My father was referring to my resolve, following Ben's death, to continue living my life as best I could, a decision I thought necessary for the sake of my other children, my daughter Kimberly and younger son Zac. My responsibility to them was not only to survive our sudden loss but to lead my extended family in the emotional reconstruction of our lives.
I thanked my father but protested that nothing I had done merited any praise.
A parent whose child predeceases him does not enjoy a wide range of choices. He can either choose life accompanied by the permanent presence of grief or he becomes busy with dying.
I don't know how it feels to lose a grandson. I regret the fact I never did ask my father about it. How had he coped with Ben's death? Frankly, the devastation from which my family was suffering at the time was unfathomable. Ben's mom and I had divorced several months prior to our loss, which made the initial mourning and subsequent grief even more difficult. I was so preoccupied with recovering my life and struggling daily to watch over my other two children that I did not spend much time with my father. He was emotionally devastated, and truthfully, I didn't know how to balance the loss of my son with that of my father's grandson.
Eight months after Ben's death, my father wrote in a letter to a friend, "For a while there I was depressed. My grandson Benji was killed in a car accident. He was just 22. I miss him. It left a large void in my heart." He said nothing more, although I suspect he was never quite the same again.
Eight years later, my father and I were chatting one afternoon in his apartment. He was home after spending two weeks in the hospital's oncology unit. My dad was dying of colon cancer and although he was enjoying a well-deserved respite from his suffering, we suspected it would be all too brief. We were together quite a lot, better late than never I suppose. He was telling me his story between hands of gin rummy. I dealt the cards and listened.
"Have you heard it said, son, that there are no atheists in foxholes?"
"Sure. I've heard that." We never discussed faith before.
"Well, I assure you. It's the absolute truth. During the war, there were a couple of guys from my barracks who claimed to be atheists. It was just prior to what later became known as the Battle of the Bulge. After my unit had engaged the enemy, I found myself in the same foxhole with these two guys, our heads in the mud, enemy fire, shells bursting all around. In my life, I had never heard so much praying. 'Dear Lord, please get me out of this. I'll be good. I'll never do that again.' You know, the sort of thing that comes out under deep stress."
Here's my chance, I thought excitedly. "What's your belief, Dad?"
"Me? I don't believe in God," he asserted without even so much as a pause.
My jaw dropped. I didn't expect such an answer. What about the story he had just told me? Wasn't it an endorsement of belief in God? There was something very wrong here. Where was the man who had pled before the Master of the Universe for his grandson's life? I wanted to speak to him.
"Were there a God -- a caring, loving, parent-like God, He would not allow the terrible things in life to happen," he asserted.
I had heard it before. I think everyone has. It is an argument that demonstrates the incompleteness of belief in God without the faith that sustains it in times of crisis.
"Dad, do you recall what you said to me after we lost Ben?"
"You mean when I told you I couldn't have gone on with life like you did?"
"What's the source of my strength? It's you Dad."
"Yes, Dad. Well, I have a secret to tell you." I crossed my arms on the kitchen table and leaned slightly forward. A moment like this had never happened before in our relationship. "I wanted to tell you then that you had never been so wrong! What's the source of my strength? It's you Dad, you're "avi mori", my father, my teacher."
I backed off a bit. His eyes had become misty. "That day when Ben died, I watched you as you pled for Ben, for all of us, and I remember thinking: 'This is my dad!' Your strength, the strength of your faith to be able to plead before God, that strength could only derive from God. So when Ben died, in your profound disappointment you set down the strength of your faith. But you know what?" My father answered me with his continuing silence. "I picked up that faith and made it my own."
That's when my father's silence turned into a smile.
He never realized what an important lesson he had taught me that day. Despite my father's earlier assertion that he would not have survived the death of a son, his own actions disproved his claim. He not only survived Ben's death but continued practicing dentistry successfully for an additional eight years before he entered the hospital for a urinary tract infection, high fever and incessant chemotherapy-induced diarrhea.
To my father, Ben was as much his son as were my brothers and I. He routinely called him "Benji son" -- his favorite term of endearment. In his heartfelt prayers – for "Benji son" and for his own life -- my father personified, perhaps unwittingly, a basic, unadorned, unarticulated trust in the words of the psalmist: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the mountains: from where shall my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth."
Dad, you were right. There really aren't any atheists in foxholes.
(27) David Neil, September 21, 2020 6:00 PM
A flip-side perspective
People ask when tragedy strikes- "Where is G-d?"
But Judaism has a different persepctive- "What did any of us do to deserve the lives we were given in the first place?"
I lost my Mom when I was 14 to cancer and she was a wonderful mother, daughter, sister, wife and "best friend" to many people.
Yet I didn't get angry at G-d. Avraham was told to give to offer up Isaac/Yitzchak... and he agreed as he understood that our lives belong to G-d in the first place. Yes it's hard. Yes we don't understand everything that happens in this world. But what did the 7 to 8 billion people in the world do who are alive today, the vast majority healthy, do to deserve life? to deserve eye-sight etc. When most people enjoy good health we don't wonder what did so many people do to deserve life? But when good people die we question. Simply put: I know there is a G-d, I know he is good, I know there is next world and I know there are things I won't understand from the perspective of this world in which I live. Modeh Ani l'fanecha...
(26) Anonymous, December 7, 2019 4:30 PM
The story restores my faith in God
When we are at our lowest and really scared, the first thing we think of is God! Ben's grandfather was disappointed that God allowed his grandson to die. The fact that he believed that God could have spared Ben's is in itself a belief in God. To Ben's father, live on for Ben up in heaven and also for your children still living on earth. And for your father and yourself. Continue believing in God
(25) Deborah Scop, December 5, 2019 3:37 PM
So sorry for your loss
I lost our first born baby boy at the age of 6 weeks and 4 days. He was born on Aleph Adar, mishenichnas Adar Marbim Bisimcha, and after 6 weeks in the NICU, having a pidyon haben, and then a bris right after he came home, he died on the 2nd day of Pesach, the first day of the Omer, the time of our morning. His name was Yonah and like his namesake. He just flew away back to his Maker. We davened so much when he was in thr hospital and afterwards. I talked to Hashem so much, all the time. I think I became closer to Hashem because of the experience and definitely gave much more tzedakah in his name and memory. I was thinking that maybe something horrible like this (in our eyes) happens because we stop davening and stop giving tzedakah and Hashem has to make something happen to set us straight and bring us back to him. Better that we forge that connection on our own, daven on our own, give tzedakah on our own so we don't need to go through pain and suffering to get there. Anyway, those are my thoughts and my thoughts at the time because Hashem.has a reason for everything. Possibly a reason to bring more chessed/kindness into the world so something happens where people have to get out of their world and feel for other people and help them with meals, visits, food, tzedakah, etc. May your son's neshama and your father's neshama have an aliyah and may Hashem comfort all of us.
(24) Anonymous, July 27, 2012 11:48 PM
Thank you
Thank you for sharing your experience, as difficult as that might have been. I was a good friend of bens during that time. I was Bens age and barely knew how to cope with what had happened. That was the only time I've ever lost a friend and I still think about it. It's a lot to process and impossible to understand, I appreciate you sharing your journey because it gives hope to an otherwise hopeless situation.
(23) Diane, April 10, 2011 1:27 AM
Loss of a child and still struggling with faith
Thank you for your beautiful article. My condolences to you on the loss of Ben, your beautiful son. My daughter died as well from a tragic accident leaving behind her beautiful 7 year old daughter. As much as I try I cannot find faith again. My parents, both gone now would have been like your father. I still struggle on a daily basis. I admire you for your strength.
(22) Anonymous, January 11, 2010 4:36 PM
My son survived and I can't cope
Thank you for your lovely article. I am searching for the meaning in a terrible accident which my son miraculously survived. I'm a Christian, but I can't believe God chose to save my son when good people lose their children. I think my son was incredibly lucky and now has a second chance at life and God will help all of us earn this chance. My best to you and thank you for your wonderful example.
(21) Judy, October 6, 2009 2:59 PM
thank you
Alan - Your writing touches the heart and the soul. Having read your work through tears, I put it aside for a later response and rediscovered it today. My own father and I just this past week discussed religion in his life. How timely I should return to your article now. How lucky Jeff and I are that our lives have intersected with yours. Your friend, Judy
(20) Larry, August 18, 2009 6:01 PM
Alan My friend
My poetic friend, my tears are of sadness, yet joy in the fact; that you have FAITH. Your friend, Larry
(19) walter, July 17, 2009 1:55 PM
my friend
.I did not have the "z'chus" to know Ben, ע״ה, but am humbled and proud to have Alan as a friend, who was there for me in my recent times of loss.
(18) , July 7, 2009 12:22 PM
Alan, my heart goes out to you for writing this about your son; I lost my daughter, and I know what it is like! Thank you so much for sending this to me; I keep reading this when I feel down, and this so helps me, as it must many others that have lost children..
(17) Anonymous, July 7, 2009 9:12 AM
I read the article Losing Ben with much reflection of my own loss. On December 3, 2002, my only child (daughter) retired to her bed and never awake. She was 26 years, six days to celebrating her second wedding anniversary. She left behind a husband, and two sons, ages 11 and 3. Through it all, like you I am approached many times “How Do You Do IT” my answer, faith in God, responsibility to her children. It is not that you are a strong person, it is an inner strength that evolves deep within one’s being that keep you going and doing what needs to done. To accept life challenges regardless of the circumstances. You were very fortunate to have your dad to see you through that difficult period of your life, regardless his beliefs, again that inner strength came to the surface to balance your hurt and loss. Thank you for sharing your loss and blessing upon you and your family.
(16) Stephen, July 2, 2009 10:19 PM
Thank You
Baruch HaShem. Thank you for sharing this. I have the honor tomorrow of attending my friend's son's funeral. He was nineteen and lost his long-fought battle with Leukemia. I was there, with about 60 other people, at the hospital when they took him off of life support. I pray to G_d that I never know for myself what they, and you, have gone through. Yet I know that if it is the will of G_d, He will sustain us, as He sustained you, and as I trust He is sustaining my friend and his sweet family. I will remember your words as I sit at the Masonic Temple with them to celebrate his life.
(15) arleen, June 28, 2009 4:48 PM
thanks
Th;anks for the life story reaffirming our faith.
(14) Heather Busch, June 21, 2009 3:00 PM
On Father's Day
I find that it is especially moving that this article came out on Father's Day of all days. Today was especially poignant in that we tried to find your father at the cemetary today, not having found him because the gravestone has not been laid, I thought to myself that even if we didn't find him there, we found your son and surely he is with him.
(13) Hildy, June 21, 2009 2:50 PM
profound
Alan, I lost my only child a little over a yr ago. My faith has been shaken to the core. You so eloquently put into words my daily thoughts and feelings. The void will never be filled, but we live each day looking for the smiles and sunshine of living as best we can. You were lucky in that you had your father. I lost both my parents very young. Because of me my grandsons will grow up remembering how much their mother loved them. Hildy
(12) FDesmojo, June 21, 2009 12:52 PM
This is what love is
Alan, I can only imagine the pain of losing a child, and a grandfather losing a grandchild. Life isn't fair, however, you have found a way to survive your grief, may G-D continue giving you that strength. I'm sure Benji and Dad are saying to you,Happy Father's Day, Son,and Dad
(11) Aviva, June 21, 2009 12:38 PM
Our Role models light the way
Alan, you have sustained a terrible tragedy. Your emunah and bitachon are the direct result of what you learned in your parents' home. You obviously had a good teacher.
(10) Channah Lesley, June 21, 2009 11:09 AM
Thank you for invite to your heart
I know how watching over a father who is dying is like. And I know that invites like this shatter us and reglue us in such changed manners like few things in life do. You teach with your heart as well as your mind. This is great gift. Thanks.
(9) Orania Hamilton, June 21, 2009 11:03 AM
I believe in Ben
Be it that one believes in a greater power or not, an innocent life was taken. Your heart, Alan and the heart of your family will for ever hold dear the memory of Ben. Grieve him miss him love him and then go on with your life so Ben can wipe away his own tears knowing that you have found peace. I truly believe that this would be Ben's wishes. Thank you for your writings, they always bring me to tears.
(8) landtzleit@aol.com, June 21, 2009 10:12 AM
Faith in God can fluctuate from day to day
Our faith in God does not have to be constant in its strength from day to day, from hour to hour. There are many things in life that just cannot be explained. As we reflect and reasses, our faith in God might strengthen or weaken. This is especially true in the face of tragedy. Most likely the memory of Ben, who was with us for way too short a span of time, has been a powerful strengthening force.
(7) Scott Smith, June 21, 2009 9:54 AM
Alan, you're still a great teacher
You know, it's been 28 years since I've been a student of yours and, in the brief weeks since we've re-connected, I find you're still the passionate, articulate teacher that helped me find a love of reading. I share in your grief and loss and I joy that your teaching through writing will help others deal with their own sense of loss, of grief.
(6) Ashleen, June 21, 2009 9:24 AM
Alan.....
(sigh)
(5) Shirley Flanagan, June 21, 2009 9:07 AM
Fathers Day Remembrance
Alan: What a touching, heartfelt writing about the feelings of fathers and sons. Typical on "Father's Day," a day to remember all fathers and sons mean to each other. My wish is that all families today will count their blessings and remember we need each other in times of joy and sorrow. Shirley
(4) sjones85014, June 21, 2009 8:09 AM
very beautiful and touching
it was very heart warming at times we all lose our way and stray
(3) Larry Ward, June 21, 2009 7:50 AM
Reply to above write.
Alan My poetic friend! My heart aches for you and your family! I know from personal experience how your Father felt about the death of your son, Ben. I could not help myself, tears came when reading this piece. My friend, my heart goes out to you. Larry
(2) Pearl Adler Saban, June 21, 2009 7:31 AM
The Power of Love
Fathers are always able to teach their sons something. Your father taught you the power of love, the power of faith. Those helped sustain you these past number of years. May your father's neshama -- and Ben's -- have an aliya.
(1) Anonymous, June 21, 2009 6:17 AM
Simply wonderful.
This is writing at its most profound. Transformational in every way. Thank you so much.