There are better people in this world than I. This I know.
And every so often, because of my job, these people are thrust in front of me and I’m forced to not only acknowledge that simple fact but ponder whether I can reach the standard they have set.
I caught myself wondering that last week when Scott Hinshaw, the state trooper injured in a horrific car crash in October, and his wife, Susan, addressed the courtroom at the sentencing of the defendant in the case, Cody Loos.
The greedy part of me as a newspaper reporter infatuated with headlines wanted fire and brimstone. I wanted Scott to get up there and let this kid have it.
“How could you do this to me?” that would have been a worthy start.
“You destroyed my life,” … ooh even better.
But from the moment Susan started speaking, I knew I would have to look elsewhere for that kind of fury.
“Cody, may the Lord bless you and keep you,” she said. “May the Lord make his face shine upon you,” she continued.
Then she started talking about his life, about how she hoped he could do so much more, how valuable he was. She called him “a child of God.”
This isn’t how this is supposed to go. You’re supposed to be vengeful at the pain you must see your husband endure. You have to be angry at the nightmares of that terrible day that awake him in the middle of the night.
Nothing. She even thanked him for being responsible for his actions.
Surely, Scott would offer that rage. After all, it’s his life that was dramatically changed because he couldn’t pass a motorist in need and just go home for his anniversary.
He recounted the details of the accident, the constant pain, that terrible guilt.
It was building up, about to boil over.
Then he turned to Cody and gently called him “bro.”
Huh?
I don’t know Scott. Maybe he calls everyone that. But that’s not what you say to someone who caused this much devastation. You call him a million names but that.
Then he offered him life advice, encouraging him to strive to be the best person he can possibly be, never to be satisfied with what he is.
Then he even offers hope that they can work together some day to educate kids about the importance of safe driving.
And then, when the court proceeding was all said and done, they embraced Loos’ family members.
For that matter, even the Templeton family offered incredible compassion. I wondered whether I could stand up like Doug Templeton and tell a judge that prison wasn’t the best option for the person who took the life of my child.
I decided maybe it was the lack of aggravating factors in this case that made the sheer thought of forgiveness imaginable. There were no drugs, no beer cans strewn on the truck floor. This, despite being an immense tragedy, was truly a terrible accident.
But there was still a life lost even if it was an accident.
Then I realized what it was.
Maybe in the face of such pain, there isn’t room left to hate.
Even Scott said the anger would consume him if he let it so he has to forgive.
Maybe trying to rise above that hate and pain is our only choice.
I still don’t know if I could. I hope I never have to decide.
But at least I’d have a place to look for a start.
