Ben Wheeler was a ‘life force,’ his family says
Ben Wheeler was so excited to go to school on Dec. 14, 2012, he forgot to close the car door when his mother dropped him off.
“I don’t remember if I said ‘I love you,’ but I remember saying ‘Close the door,’ ” Francine Wheeler testified during a defamation damages trial in October.
“That was the last thing I said to him,” she said as she started to cry.
Ben was one of 20 first graders and six educators fatally shot that day at Sandy Hook Elementary School.
Ben, or Benny, as his family called him, was a funny and very active boy who was “obsessed with lighthouses,” his mother said.
“Whenever we went on vacation, we had to visit lighthouses. We had to have a lighthouse on his birthday cake. We had lighthouses all over his and Nate’s room,” she said of the bedroom he shared with his older brother, Nathaniel.
It was that love of lighthouses that inspired the family to create an organization called Ben’s Lighthouse in his honor. The nonprofit supports children to try to create a more compassionate world, according to its website.
A ‘life force’
Ben’s father, David Wheeler, described him as a “life force” during the same trial. The Wheelers could not be reached for this story.
“He moved very, very quickly through the world,” David Wheeler testified. “Nothing really ever moved fast enough for him. He was always going.”
On the soccer field, Ben could be seen “running across the field long after it was actually necessary,” his family wrote in his obituary, “but always smiling and laughing as he moved the ball nearly always at full tilt.”
“He was so busy, he never sat,” Francine Wheeler said. “So he would just run, run, run.”
Moving at warp speed can lead to accidents, and Ben had his share.
“In fact, his nickname was ‘Crash,’” David Wheeler testified.
As Ben continued to have accidents, or minor incidents in which he injured others, his family added to the nickname, he said.
“So his full nickname was ‘Crash Hop-Along-Hurt-HimselfJaw-Breaker-Shiner-Split-LipGashed-Eye-Faceplant-Nosebuster Wheeler,’ ” his dad said.
His parents rewarded him for good behavior with stickers, with mixed results, Francine Wheeler said.
The stickers appeared to work for one category of good behavior, “sitting fully in a chair,” she said. “He finally did that.”
But Ben didn’t do as well with “no kicking, licking or biting,” she said.
One night, he bit his father on the arm when he was disciplining him for acting up at the dinner
table, holding a fork the wrong way, and “being obnoxious and loud,” David Wheeler said.
As a result, Wheeler now has a permanent memory of his son.
“And I mean it’s weird, but now I’m kind of glad he did. I have this scar,” he said, grabbing a tissue and wiping tears from his eyes.
One time Ben was able to sit still was when he played the piano.
“Ben performed at his piano recital, and sitting still long enough to play one piece was an accomplishment he reveled in,” the obit says.
Francine Wheeler, who was a professional singer in New York City when she met her husband, then an aspiring actor, said she was struck by Ben’s musical abilities. He could hum a “C” or a “G” note on command, she said.
Best friends
Ben adored Nate, who was 9 when Ben was killed. He couldn’t wait for his big brother to wake up each day.
“He would poke Nate’s eyelids in the morning to get him awake,” Francine Wheeler said. She told Ben she would have to put him in a separate bedroom if he kept it up, and Ben responded, “‘Please, Mommy, don’t put me in different room. I love Nate.’ ”
“He did finally stop poking his eyes. But it took a while,” she testified, smiling softly.
On the morning of Dec. 14, after she dropped Nate off at Sandy Hook Elementary School early for book club, Ben had some rare, quiet time with his mother at Starbucks.
After ordering a chocolate milk, Ben declared he wanted to be an architect when he grew up, his mom recalled.
He then added, “No no no no no, I’m going to be an architect AND a paleontologist because Nate is going to be a paleontologist and I have to do everything that Nate does.’ ”
She told him he can be his own person, she said. Her voice cracking, she repeated Ben’s response: “‘Oh no no no, I’ve always got to be with Nate. I love Nate. And I love you, Mommy.’”
“I love you, too,” she recalled saying.
Still, the boys were very different. Nate loved reading. Ben always wanted to be outside, and he’d convince his brother to join him.
Ben might not have known it, but “he was helping Nate get out of his shell,” Francine Wheeler said.
They were so tight, Francine Wheeler said she could picture Ben visiting Nate in college one day and, later, “being best men at each other weddings.”
Light in the darkness
Francine and David Wheeler have worked hard to create goodness in their lives. Nathaniel once again is a big brother — at age 47, Francine gave birth to another baby boy in 2014. Matthew turned 8 in November.
And while dealing with their own trauma, they are working to help other young people. Shortly after Ben died, they built a children’s program around two of his favorite things, music and lighthouses.
Called Ben’s Lighthouse, the program helps children develop social connections and compassion, according to its website. It includes a summer camp and a puppet show with large, Sesame Street-style puppets.
“We help young people find their unique ability to make a difference in the world,” its website says, “to be beacons of hope and change; to stand tall and shine bright.”
Like a lighthouse.