S1/ E1: Shock and Awe

So on a day like any other, I got the call no parent ever wants to get, or ever really imagines they will, and one they never should. My daughter was dead. This episode covers the moment my life changed forever, and the living nightmare that began the next chapter of my life.

Transcript

Bruce: 0:34

Welcome to Don't Forget to Breathe. I'm your host, Bruce Barker. This first episode is called Shock and Awe. And I think you'll understand why, certainly by the end, but just to give you a little bit of a warning ahead of time, this is going to go back to the moment that I found out about my daughter dying and those first several days of walking through that living nightmare. So if you're not ready for this, if it's um um maybe still too raw for you, and um you just want to skip over it, go ahead. Skip over to another episode. Um and when you feel ready, if you feel ready, uh then you can come back and hear about that first week um of my journey. To begin, it's 2006, and it was time to fly home to Denver, ending the worst week of my life, uh, but beginning a journey through the most painful year of my life, one I called the year of firsts, and we'll talk about the year of first in in future episodes. Um and it all began with the sudden death of my only child, my precious daughter, my purpose. It's Kristen. But allow me to take you back to the beginning for a much abbreviated look at Kristen's life. Kristen Nicole Barker was born on October 9th, 1985, in Paris, Texas. She made her first big impact on this world by arriving late but at 9 pounds 14 ounces. Um, at that time, I was in the retail industry. And after a series of job transfers, uh, we eventually made it back to our home in Monroe, Louisiana. Uh, but soon after, um, there was another move to Junction City, Arkansas, uh, to operate a local grocery store. And it was there that Kristen learned the ins and outs of being a small grocer at the ripe old age of three. And also at three years old, Kristen's mother and I divorced with very few career options for me at that time in northern Louisiana. And wanting Kristen to see me happy rather than miserable, I made a very painful choice to move away to Florida, uh, where I began a career in the amusement park industry. That also began Kristen's countless flights from her home in Louisiana to my many homes as I moved throughout the industry in Orlando and Minneapolis, Indianapolis, Fort Lauderdale, Houston, New York City, and eventually the Denver area. Um, Kristen quote unquote worked in several of the facilities over the years as she grew up. Um, she was a greeter, a ticket taker, a ride operator, snack bar cook. She was a busser, a server, uh, but an all-around ambassador of smiles. She had huge dimples. Um, and that was that was visible to every guest that entered our facility. Um after landing in Denver, I left the amusement park industry just to avoid the continued life of transfers and started a sportswear company, much to Kristen's delight, as she was the beneficiary of every new design I printed, every sample that fit, and she also offered her creative creativity and her creativeness to the company. The many extended visits we shared as father and daughter, exploring new areas, meeting new friends, and learning a variety of cultures and beliefs, taught Kristen openness, compassion, empathy, independence, and just a zest for life. Our relationship, you know, went through the typical ups and downs of growing up. That's both of us growing up, but we were still very close, but never closer than the summer of 2006. That's the visit when she asked all the questions that she had had for many years. Questions I knew would come one day, and answers that were truthful and clarifying for her. It was a precious and special time we shared that summer. Uh, one I will always cherish, and one I thank God for allowing us to share, especially with what was about to happen in a matter of days that neither of us knew. Kristen was a friend to many. She brought smiles and laughter to everyone that was near, touched more people than she knew, and still does. In July 1994, Kristen was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, that's juvenile diabetes, insulin-dependent for the rest of her life. Diabetes uh made her grow up way faster than she should. It caused her many scares and pain that a child should never have to endure. Um, it controlled her life more than one needs to be controlled. And on July 26, 2006, it took her life many, many years sooner than it should. After returning to Monroe from her time with me in Denver, just a few days after spending such an amazing time together in the Rocky Mountains, Kristen fell into a coma and died. So on a day like any other day, I got a call no parent ever wants to get, or ever really imagines they will, and definitely one they never should. I was at a business where I occasionally contracted work located near downtown Denver when my cell phone rang with both a call and a voicemail notice. I listened to the voicemail of a work colleague of Kristen's mom stating that I should call immediately. Hearing the urgency in the voicemail, my heart began to race. Nervously, I punched in the numbers, hit send, and waited. When my call was connected, I said who I was and asked for Kristen's mom. She got on the phone, but she wasn't able to speak. And the phone was handed to a man who now was given a horrible task. And standing there in that business, I heard the voice of this person I'd never met tell me that Kristen had died, that she had died in her sleep, and my world stopped. Everything became foggy. Um, I was plunged into my never-before imagined nightmare, but it was for real. I nearly collapsed on the floor, listening, crying, asking questions, and just crying. I don't have much of a recollection of even what I asked or what I said, and I've tried to recall that conversation, but I can't. Um maybe because it's better left stored away somewhere else in my mind. Maybe that's just my mind simply protecting me. So from downtown Denver, I managed to drive back to my office in Parker, Colorado. It's about 25 miles. Um, but I have no idea how I did that. Um because I don't remember it. I look back and I believe now that that God had somehow controlled my car, keeping me in one piece, because I surely don't remember that drive, other than repeating the words, no, no, no, no. Just over and over and over again, as if I could will this nightmare to only be a dream, will myself to wake up and will Kristen to be okay. But that wasn't the case. So once I arrived at my shop, Kim, who was the owner of the embroidery business in the space we shared, saw that something catastrophic had happened and was able to get the information out of me. And from that moment, she took over, made my flight arrangements to Louisiana for the next morning. Um, she called work colleagues and friends, giving them the news. My friend Robert, who taught me how to screen print, came right over and jumped in and took over the business with several jobs that were already scheduled for completion. You know, and as I look back, I see the value of true friends. You know, while they, nor anyone for that matter, knew what to say, they knew what to do, and just did it without hesitation. It might be 14 years late, um, because I don't know if I said it or not. But Kim and Robert, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you did for me during that time. So after leaving work, I managed to make it home again, again with no recollection of the drive, and having to tell my girlfriend at the time what had happened. I do remember thinking as I told her that I would have to tell this story over and over again with each new encounter of a friend, a colleague, or even strangers. Another burden has just landed in my mind. I knew I had to pack and thought my suit I hadn't worn since my dad's funeral um two years prior needed to get cleaned, but there was no time. Um, so that would just have to happen in Monroe. I also realized I had no dress shoes. I was a girl's lacrosse coach, so sneakers were that was my footwear of choice. So it was off to the shoe store. Um and I recall the thought um as I was getting shoes that I was getting shoes to wear to my daughter's funeral. And it was a strange thought to have, I know, but not the only strange and random thought I'd have over the next several days. So much of those first 24 hours are a fog, just a blur in my mind. Um, and if if you have experienced a loss like this, I'm sure yours are the same way. I couldn't find them then, and I couldn't find those thoughts now. Um and I do have a fear that there will be a trigger somewhere at some point over my lifetime that will pull those memories front and center, and I'm not looking forward to that at all. Um yet while many things are still a blur from those initial hours, there are some things that are starkly clear. One in particular I now know must be shared with every parent who has faced this terrible tragedy. When I woke the very next morning for that fraction of a second between being asleep and awake, I had the thought that all of this was just a horrible, terrible nightmare. That everything was okay, that Kristen was just fine, that life was normal, there was a sense of relief, but that was only for a fraction of a second. And then I was awake, and the nightmare was real. I wouldn't be waking up to everything being okay, but Kristen being just fine, life being as it was before. Ever again. This nightmare was real, and it was only the beginning. And now it was time to fly to Monroe, Louisiana, for a task I was ill-prepared to do. There was nothing in the training manual for parents to cover this. I don't even really remember the flight or even going to the airport who I sat by, good weather, bad weather, turbulence, smooth flight, nothing. My mind was in such a fog. I I guess it was in a shutdown state. I was simply going through the motions necessary to function on the immediate task at hand, the simplest of tasks. There was a numbness that just kind of enveloped me. I was just trying to put one foot in front of the other, literally. As my flight arrived in Monroe, I could feel such a huge weight in my chest, anxiety just running wild. It was like a tornado inside my mind and my body just kind of wreaking havoc. So, to get a feel for that, think back for a moment. Remember back to your most terrifying moment or event as a child, even if only imagined. The helplessness you felt, how small you seemed, and how you just knew everyone was watching you. Your parents weren't around to help, to comfort, you were completely alone to face this terror, and strangers were your audience. Well, that's only a fraction of how it felt. Taking my first step off that plane, knowing I was there for the sole purpose to arrange and attend my daughter's funeral, to be more direct and just to be blunt, to bury my daughter. So what kind of job is this? Why did I have to do this? This wasn't the natural order of life and death. Parents aren't supposed to bury their children. I mean it happens, yeah, I know, but we weren't the first, nor will we be the last. But still, I didn't want to step out of that airport. I was not prepared for this, but I had no choice. No choice. I had friends pick me up at the airport to drive me to Kristen's mom's house. Um, again, I I don't really recall that much about the ride. Um, I don't believe much was said at all. I mean, what really could anyone say in a situation like that? Um, I believe I just simply stared out the window, not really focusing on anything or anyone passing by. Nothing outside that car window mattered to me. I was still existing in such a state of disbelief, just unable to understand why I was back in Monroe for this reason. When I arrived at my ex-wife's house, I found her friends taking care of her, keeping her sedated, actually. I must say that I would have preferred the same kind of treatment, the sedation, anyway. The hugs and sorries were being given to me so softly, so quietly, treatment like that to a fragile, priceless sculpture. You know, they they brought Kristen's mom out, and I got another dose of reality. When we, as two parents, hugged each other, just crying uncontrollably. We'd lost our daughter. It was it was really happening. Nothing we could do could change that. We were powerless as parents. Just powerless. Like a feeling as powerless as an infant. So we were told we would have to go to the funeral home in just a few hours to start making arrangements. I I couldn't even bear that thought. I knew it was a reality, but actually hearing it from someone rather than just a random thought in my head, made it more real for the next hour or so, though I'm not really sure of time really at that point. Um, we sat around the living room crying, occasionally just staring off into nothingness. Friends and acquaintances were showing up, handing out their hugs and sorries, and plenty of tears. We would just stay and just sit around. Um but the people not really knowing what to say, what to do, just sat there and for them what had to be the most uncomfortable room they could have ever been in. Um we were being asked now and then if there was anything we needed, um, that we should eat something. Um but I I didn't even want to be breathing at that point, much less eat anything. But I know they were just looking out for us. So Kristen's mom's brother, Terry, was a pastor and a great friend to Kristen. Just a just a wonderful guy overall. He had driven in from St. Louis and it was an easy decision that he would be speaking at the funeral. I had always been consulted by phone um as to the funeral home where Kristen would be taken. Kristen's mom went there earlier in the day and saw Kristen as soon as she arrived, and now it was time for us to go there too. We were going to have to make the plans for our daughter's funeral. Now, I had helped make arrangements for my father's funeral, like less than two years earlier, and even helped a friend make arrangements for a family member just years before. But I had no idea what I was about to face, what we were going to have to do as parents. I mean what parents should never have to do. So Terry said it's time to go. But this wouldn't be the only time that we'd hear him say this over the next three days. So I'm gonna leave that with you for now. I know it's a lot to absorb, it's a lot to process, and when we go to the next episode, again, these are gonna be tough ones initially. Um I'm gonna take you to the funeral home and we're gonna walk through that process. And again, it's not it's not a pleasant process. So bear with me if you can. And if not, skip that next episode as well. And come back when you're ready. Thanks for listening. I'll talk to you next time.