From 'Where's David?' to 'Why David?'
- Lori Jo Oswald
- Dec 5, 2016
- 4 min read
Opinions
Author: Lori Jo Oswald
Updated: December 5, 2016
Published December 5, 2016
"Where's David?" I found this phrase at the front of my mind the last three weeks. Sometimes, when I'd be searching another patch of woods with my dogs, I'd say it out loud, as if the potent pain of it couldn't stay inside me anymore. "Where's David?" I would cry, and my dogs would look at me, trying to understand what I was asking for.
As I walked trails and wooded areas, I knew I didn't want to find him. What I wanted was for David Grunwald to be found alive and to be safely returned to his frightened family.
I wasn't the only one looking. It seems like the small rural city of Palmer drew together in confusion and fear over what happened to one of our town's sons, as well as concern for his family. There was so much love everywhere. Over 300 strangers showed up for a search, offering to help in any way possible. Former classmates of David's met to search where his car was burned. The local UPS store printed off 1,000 fliers for free, and Three Bears donated food and hand warmers for those looking for this boy (and later, Vagabond Blues gave coffee to those who showed up for a candlelight vigil). There was something deep going on. The pain we felt — and feel — is so personal.
David, beautiful with his quirky smiles and sparkling eyes that looked at us from posters and social media posts, represented something to each of us. For me, he was the same age as my son, a former classmate even, someone who always made my son laugh. Amazing!
It seems that he represented something greater, though, to so many. David seemed to be the boy next door, the class clown, a friend to many, with a future that seemed good and bright and right. David seemed to be America's son, not just Palmer's: military family, good school, career path in aviation and engineering, 16 years old, just old enough to drive. …
And then, he disappeared. In a terrible, frightening way that none of us in Palmer could understand. That night, after David dropped off his girlfriend and told his mom he'd be stopping by to visit a friend … it all sounded so normal. The disappearance of David was every parent's nightmare. It could have been any of our children. Perhaps this explains the searches and offers of help from what seemed like the entire town, the sudden tears of mothers, the grim worried faces of fathers. We came together in our grief and concern. We all strove to help the Grunwald family find peace.
"It has to be a stranger; maybe he stopped to help someone, and there were two of them waiting for him, grabbing control of his car, taking him somewhere." That was my theory. It certainly couldn't have been anyone local.
Oh, you hear of "bad seeds" in small cities, but usually problem areas like Jim Creek are blamed on people driving up from Anchorage with stolen cars to burn and guns to shoot. No, Palmer is the kind of place you move to so you can feel safe and can always find a friend at Fireside Books or see someone you know at the Noisy Goose. On Facebook, some suggest of a darker Palmer — one of troubled teens and drugs and break-ins. Maybe I was just blind to this side of my small city. Till now.
After the discovery of David's body, we are asking, "Why David?" instead of "Where's David?" Why was this boy murdered? And why would another boy, Erick, also in a class with David and my son last year, and seeming to be, at least at one time, a friend of David's, allegedly murder him? And who drove the alleged murderer down the mountain after he burned David's car? How many others participated in ending David's life, and will they be caught? And will they answer the questions: "Why David? Why Erick? Why would a teen murder another teen?" Are we now to teach our children to not only fear strangers, but also their friends?
After David's family, whom I grieve for daily, I feel the most sorrow for the children in our community. How are they ever to recover from this tragedy? But I have seen Palmer pull together in a powerful, loving search for someone else's son, who in some way became Everybody's Child, and maybe, together, we can help our children — and ourselves — get through this. And make sure it never happens again.
Lori Jo Oswald is a technical editor, author, dog rescuer, trail lover, and the mother of a 16-year-old boy. She was born in Anchorage and has been a fan of Palmer since her childhood, when her mother took her family to Koslosky's for annual school clothes shopping.
The views expressed here are the writer's and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email to commentary@alaskadispatch.com. Send submissions shorter than 200 words to letters@alaskadispatch.com.
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