THEY CAN NEVER FORGET FOR RELATIVES, FRIENDS, METROLINK WRECK LEAVES A VOID.

Byline: Richard Nemec Local View

SINCE the Christmas holiday, we have been horrifically reminded that bad things happen to good people who are going through the ordinary routines of life. This lesson screams at us from the car bombs at Iraq polling places, the commuter train tracks in Glendale and the tsunami-shattered beaches in Indonesia.

Random death and violence are incomprehensible. Thus, the natural human response is to passively count ourselves among the untouched and go on about our own mundane daily lives.

While being guilty at times of the same head-in-the-sand approach, I nevertheless know, both intellectually and emotionally, there are thousands, if not millions, of other fellow human beings who cannot just smugly go on about their business in the wake of the recent calamities. Those are the relatives and friends of the victims in these tragedies.

This is particularly true in the tragedy closest to us in Southern California - the aborted suicide/commuter train wreck that took the lives of 11 and shattered the lives of thousands who were either the people on commuter trains involved or among their friends and family.

I was particularly struck by the story of the friend of one victim - ironically, an avid train buff - who rushed to the accident scene while the investigation and cleanup were ongoing, hoping, praying, that he'd find his pal. Unfortunately, the man had been one of those killed, leaving behind a wife and small children.

These people will never be able to forget - and we should always help them remember, in the ways we lead our own lives as citizens - loved ones, co-workers, parents, friends. When we are feeling sorry for ourselves or another member of our family, we need to remember the victims in the Moorpark Metrolink train.

They were like most of us - ordinary individuals, dedicated to jobs and family, used to leading quiet lives that are not thrust into the hot news glare of tragedy. They were bookkeepers, pipe fitters, a train conductor, a county sheriff's deputy, housewives, mothers, fathers and best friends.

Tougher to stomach, and more compelling in the need for remembrance, is the fact that these lives did not have to be randomly squandered. Another human being caused the Metrolink tragedy in a despicable act of selfishness and murderous neglect.

I pray for the alleged perpetrator probably more than the victims' families and friends, because I know his soul is burning, and should burn. Prayer is a salve to keep one's heart from bursting with anger and block out visions of revenge. We want justice for all of the civilized world, and particularly for those deeply hurting loved ones.

As a father who was once called at 1:45 a.m. on a Sunday to be told by a New York City emergency-room doctor that his 25-year-old daughter was dead, killed by a hit-and-run driver, I feel the utter emptiness left in the loved ones and friends of the train crash victims almost eight years later.

The story of one of the Metrolink tragedy's victims is particularly poignant. Bill Parent, 53, was alive when dragged from the train wreckage and managed to have a fellow passenger who was not severely injured call his brother in Simi Valley. The stranger did that, kicking off a nearly 24-hour search by his brother and sister only to end in frustration and a belated call from the morgue.

The two siblings had to identify their older brother as the last fatality from the catastrophe. He never made it to a hospital where they had frantically searched; he died at the scene.

News photographs of the dead captured them in happier times, full smiles lighting up their very ordinary, human faces. My mind's eye traces their features, reminding me of the way I linger at various photographs of my late daughter that are found around my home.

I stare at these photos, wishing and hoping that it had all been a bad dream - albeit almost eight long years ago - but, alas, that is never a possibility, even in dream-like states. I also look at the photos as a means of remembering, reflecting on all that my daughter and other countless victims meant to so many.

These fond remembrances, illuminating life's best times, serve to muffle the screams inside us and stop the eruptions of anger buried deep in the heart. When we don't remember, we forget what it means to be human.

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Photo:

A commuter holds a photo of conductor Thomas Ormiston visiting her after surgery, at a memorial for Ormiston, who died in the Metrolink disaster on Jan. 26.

Damian Dovarganes/Associated Press