Ruminating on the Central Question of The River is Waiting

I recently finished reading Wally Lamb’s latest novel The River Is Waiting. This was an incredibly challenging book for me to read. Reviews show that quite a few readers were not able to finish the book because the subject matter is so disturbing, and I’ll admit that I almost quit myself. This next bit is a wee spoiler because it’s not in the blurb (although it happens within the first chapter, I believe). The novel tells the story of Corby, a father of two-year-old twins who, while caring for his kids, mixes alcohol and anti-anxiety medication and accidentally kills one of his children. Lamb takes the reader through every excruciating detail of what happens after: the EMTs and police arriving, the trip to the hospital where Corby hopes and prays that his child can be saved, how the mother learns of the accident and how she reacts to Corby’s role, Corby’s discussions with the police and his lawyer, everything. It was like a train wreck to which my eyes were riveted despite the fact I felt sick on behalf of everyone involved in this fictional story.

I am one of the most forgiving, loving people you will encounter. This is due to my understanding of happiness (the Right Hand of Long-Term Happiness and the Four Stages of an Event) and the obstacles (called life) that often impede happiness. I have been so unhappy I struggled to get out of bed; I have felt rage so deep I could picture myself not only hurting someone but gleefully hurting someone; I have felt ashamed and ugly and lonely; I have known terror. Every negative emotion one has felt, I have felt it, too, and I remember in my core what they all feel like and how desperate I have been at times to escape those feelings. So I can empathize.

Furthermore, I believe two truths can co-exist: we can all be capable of depravities, and we can all be capable of greatness at the same time. To me, the difference between these states is the fulfillment of needs and expectations over the course of a lifetime. This is not to say that I am willing to accept bad behavior and blame it all on environment. I think fulfillment of needs and expectations is largely an internal pursuit. However, like a mother, I still feel love for wayward children (even when they need to be educated and disciplined) because I usually understand where they are coming from. And I still wish for them to be well and reach their highest potential because I believe everyone benefits from healthier communities.

All that said, if I were Corby’s wife, I’m not sure I could ever forgive him for killing our child. Corby was suffering from depression. He’d lost his job and was struggling to find a new one in his field of interest (esteem, growth, autonomy). His status as unemployed in a household with a wife and two kids, the wife being in a low-income job (teacher), was giving Corby anxiety, which in turn caused sleepless nights (safety, physiological). Though he loved his wife, his unemployment seemed to cause tension between the two (social). I understand all this and empathize. Corby probably couldn’t even see with clarity his own situation and could have used help.

Then there is the matter of the substance abuse. I understand on an intellectual level that substance addiction is often chemically-based and can qualify as a medical illness. Same with depression, for that matter. I recently read Hidden Valley Road, which is about schizophrenia. Same thing: there seems to be a chemical basis for the condition, it qualifies as a medical illness. In that book and in many other places I’ve heard the argument, “You would not treat a loved one with cancer in the same way that a person with depression/substance addiction/schizophrenia/etc. is treated.” The problem is that it’s not an apples-to-apples comparison. By their very nature, illnesses of the mind tend to work against treatment, and a person generally has to take an interest in their own treatment for the treatment to be effective. A cancer patient is usually keen to rid themselves of cancer, and even if the treatment is unpleasant, the patient can see the bigger picture and push through the side effects (often with the help of a supportive community). Whereas in illnesses of the mind, the mind is giving the patient a dozen reasons why the treatment is harmful or unnecessary, and in many cases the patient will resist treatment.

Listen, life is hard for almost everyone. Most of us struggle to get through the day just working on filling our own Needs. I think it’s a little outrageous to place the expectation on any person that they should also take responsibility for a loved one with a medical illness of the mind who (probably because of their condition) is working against treatment. If you add on top of that the many other responsibilities a person has (kids, pets, financial, aging parents, and so on), it could easily be too much for a person to handle. The people who do manage to take on that responsibility are angels. Hidden Valley Road tells the story of several brothers with schizophrenia, and their mother took on the role of caring for them as well and as much as she could. But there was a substantial cost to her caregiving: the siblings who were “healthy” felt neglected by their mother, resentful of the time she gave to the ones who needed extra attention, and harassed by their schizophrenic brothers.

Knowing the bond that exists between a mother and child, losing a child in any circumstance would be devastating, but if someone I knew were directly responsible for that death, that seems a betrayal too large to overcome. So while I have sympathy for Corby’s depression and substance use, I don’t think as the mother of the dead child I’d be able to forgive him and move forward in our relationship. Or rather, I might forgive on one level but would feel like I couldn’t forget if he served as a daily reminder of my deep loss.

I really wrestled with this question while I was reading because I believe the Corbys of the world are deserving of grace and forgiveness. I don’t think one mistake should define us. A recent news story told of a gentleman who left his young daughter in a car in Arizona. She overheated and died. The man could not live with his shame and grief and committed suicide. I feel like there are no winners in that story, it’s heartbreak all around. But reading The River Is Waiting, I came to realize there are limits to my compassion.

Have you read The River is Waiting? What were your thoughts? If you were Corby’s partner, do you think you’d ultimately forgive him? Do you think he deserves to rot in prison? If you were Corby, do you think you’d ever be able to forgive yourself? I’d love to hear your viewpoint.