S1/ E4: A Randomly Planned Tapestry

I believe that during the course of our lives, both individually and collectively, our daily activities, experiences and relationships are woven together to eventually form an amazing and complex tapestry; our very own life’s tapestry. A tapestry is made up of so many threads, each with its own purpose and distinct place in the pattern being created.  But why those threads; why then; why now. Let's discover some of those threads in my life's tapestry.

Transcript

Bruce: 0:34

Welcome to Don't Forget to Breathe. I'm your host, Bruce Barker. This is episode four. It's called A Randomly Planned Tapestry. You know, I believe that during the course of our lives, both individually and collectively, our daily activities, experiences, and relationships are woven together to eventually form an amazing and complex tapestry, our very own life's tapestry. So what do I mean when I refer to life's tapestry? Well, let me give you two actual definitions of tapestry. I mean I looked them up. One, a piece of thick textile fabric with pictures or designs formed by weaving colored weft threads or by embroidery on canvas used as a wall hanging or furniture covering. Also used in reference to an intricate or complex combination of things or sequences of events. So I'm going to use both of these definitions as I begin to unpack the first three episodes for you. While I've I've been able to narrate those episodes for you in less than a total of an hour's time, the revelations I learned from many of those events has taken me years, and I'm still learning. So let's visualize a tapestry. Maybe you've seen them in movies, you know, those giant cloths hanging from the walls and castles. Um maybe you've seen them displayed in a museum. Um, I mean, I doubt that your neighbor has a tapestry hanging on their wall, or maybe you have one who does. That'd be kind of cool. But if you haven't seen a tapestry, um, go ahead and look it up on the web. Like, go ahead, take a look. I can wait. But, you know, but whether you've seen one before or you just looked it up, I think you would agree that it's an amazing pattern of woven thread or yarn of multiple colors bound together, you know, to form a beautiful image. Depending on how intricate it is, it could take quite a long time to look and really absorb all the parts that form the tapestry. I think we can agree that it took the artist or crafts person a very long time to create, but each creator had a clear vision and a plan for the completed work. Now, if you looked up a tapestry on the web, take a look at the back side. In most cases, it appears to be a jumbled mess of knotted, fragmented, ragged, and chaotic threads. Although in some cases there are only a few threads that are loose and hanging. But remember that the other side, the front side, has a perfectly arranged pattern of those same ragged threads. I believe that we spend most of our lives on the back side of life's tapestry, doing the work from that side, hoping, believing, and maybe even trusting that the front side will come out as a wonderful display of a great life. And sometimes, if we're fortunate or really in tune with ourselves, spend time in self-reflection. We can get an occasional glimpse at the front side, the side the world sees. We may even have a clear vision and plan of the life we are weaving, but rarely does that vision or plan work out the way we thought. You know, this is especially true when a life-altering event occurs, something outside the normal pattern of the day-to-day that changes things forever. This is the time to remember that we are not the master artist in charge of the tapestry. But that's easier said than done. And now we find ourselves in the knotted, chaotic wad of threads. At least that's where I found myself after my daughter died. I could not possibly see the other side of the tapestry. I could not see what had already been woven. I could not see what was being woven then on a daily basis. But as time moved forward, I began to get a glimpse of the other side. So let me tell you about some of those threads. There are times in our lives when we meet someone that at the time just seems like a normal part of life, like people you get to know in a group that you're involved in, or a change in a workplace, maybe a party or social gathering. Who knows? There are any number of ways to meet and get to know someone. For instance, I joined my church choir in 2003 and spent a lot of time with that group of people. Um, you know, and when during any number of rehearsals or activities, one of the people in the choir was a 26-year-old nurse named Michelle. She was a really nice person that everyone really liked. I didn't know much about her. We weren't especially close, but I learned something impactful about her after a Sunday in 2005 when she didn't show up for church. Now, her best friend couldn't get in touch with her, and she decided to check on her because Michelle had been house sitting for our choir director. So when she went looking for her friend after church, she found her. Michelle, the 26-year-old nurse, choir member, and very loved person, had died overnight on the couch at our choir director's house. We later learned that she died from ketoacidosis. The first time I had ever heard that word. You see, Michelle had type 1 diabetes, just like my daughter. And this is how I found out. So the next time I heard the word ketoacidosis, it was from the coroner who performed Kristen's autopsy. He told me the cause of death was ketoacidosis, a complication from type 1 diabetes, where the blood sugars are extremely high, causing the blood to become acidic. Now, some of the symptoms are nausea and vomiting, weakness, fatigue, and confusion. So while ketoacidosis is treatable when recognized and medical attention is taken, untreated, it leads to coma and eventually death. And this is what happened to Kristen. At some point in the afternoon, one of her friends thought she might have food poisoning and just placed a small garbage can by her bed since she was too weak to get up and go to the bathroom. When they checked on her the next morning, she had died at some point during the night. Before I really knew about ketoacidosis, I couldn't understand how Kristen's blood sugars had progressed to a level that would kill her. She was always so in tune with her body. If her sugar was low, she knew it. If her sugar was high, she knew it. She knew those big changes of her sugar levels without testing. And if she were sleeping when it happened, she'd wake up. So how did this happen? But then I learned about how ketoacidosis affects someone. And I remembered Michelle, a nurse, who most definitely knew all about ketoacidosis. So I had a very small answer as to how. Michelle was a purposeful thread in my tapestry. And then there was Luther, um, an incredible guy I met and got to know in a men's group at church in 2003. He was a former rocker who had a passion for music, people, and Jesus, but not really in that order. You know, he always had a smile on his face. But while he was around my age, he moved like he was in his 80s. It was clear to see that he was in constant pain, especially when walking. As I got to know Luther more, I found out that the reason he was in such chronic pain was due to the side effects of rejection drugs he had to take. You see, Luther was a diabetic for over 25 years, and in 2001, he received a kidney and pancreas transplant. The transplant was needed because of the extensive damage diabetes had done to his organs over the years. So what was also unique about Luther's transplant was that he received his organs from a young man in Wyoming who was killed in an auto accident on September 12th, 2001. Yes, that's the day after the 9-11 attacks. The only private or commercial plane allowed to fly in the U.S. on September 12th flew from Wyoming to Denver carrying the donated organs Luther needed to survive. It was uncomfortable to see Luther in such pain, day after day, month after month, year after year. It never really got any better. It just got to be one of those things I saw as Luther's new normal. So it was just how it was. I mean, we all know people who are living with a variety of ailments. But the real impact of knowing Luther and his pain was later processing one detail in the call from the coroner who performed Kristen's autopsy. One of the things he told me was that Kristen's organs were in such bad shape from the damage caused by her diabetes that she would have been looking at the need for a transplant within five to ten years. And I realized that she probably would have experienced the same chronic pain that Luther lived with. So Luther was a purposeful thread in my tapestry. I'm not sure if I mentioned it previously, but in 2003, I started coaching Girls Lacrosse with a friend of mine. She introduced me to the game, and I immediately was hooked on the skill, the flow, competitiveness, and excitement of the women's game. You see, there's a big difference between boys and girls lacrosse. In my somewhat biased opinion, girls lacrosse requires far more skill and finesse than that of the boys' game. Now that may start some debates in your home if you have a son that plays, but I'll just let that go for now. All right, sorry for the sidetrack there, but over the years, I developed a passion for coaching the girls' game. It was like having a team full of daughters around me with Kristen living in Louisiana. My coaching had progressed from youth to high school lacrosse, and I was quite involved with Colorado Girls Lacrosse. In 2005, 2006, and 2007, I had the honor of being one of four coaches named to represent the Rocky Mountain Region team and take two teams of the best players in Utah and Colorado to the U.S. LaCrosse Women's National Tournament back east each of those three years. It was a prestigious event bringing players, coaches, and innovators of the sport together from all over the country. It was always an amazing four days over Memorial Day weekend. And at the event in 2005, I was able to learn about Gene Albert and his creation of the HLA Foundation in honor of his daughter, Heather Lee Albert, who passed away in 1993 at 21 years of age. As noted on their website, the HLA Foundation is committed to engaging and inspiring youth girls and women through sport and lacrosse with a positive and constructive atmosphere. He created the Heather Lee Albert Award given to an outstanding player at the tournament. I was extremely impressed and inspired by Gene's story and ability to create this foundation that touched so many girls and young women over the years. And the inspiration I gained from him was never more powerful than when I returned to coach again in 2007 at that event. It was then that I actually met Gene and we shared our stories of losing daughters so young. So there we were, two fathers standing on a hill, watching amazing young women play the sport they loved and talking about our grief journeys. I'll never forget what he told me. He said, Bruce, you'll never get over this. You'll just learn how to live life differently. But you'll live life again. Gene was a purposeful thread in my tapestry. After Kristen died in 2006, I immediately started receiving cards, emails, and donations from girls lacrosse programs all over the state and nationwide. I didn't even realize that someone out there must have known of the expenses that come with a funeral. I know I had no idea and was very surprised when I opened up the first card and a check fell out. And then a couple of weeks later, I learned about a Memorial Lacrosse tournament that one of the local coaches, also named Kristen, had organized as a fundraiser. I was blown away. I remember mustering up enough energy to go to the tournament and witness these girls from multiple teams around the state playing lacrosse and doing it that day for my daughter. The lacrosse community was truly my lacrosse family. The support I received from countless players, coaches, parents, leaders, and legends of the game carried me through those first few months of agonizing grief. It gave me a purpose for getting up every morning and heading out the door. All of those players, coaches, parents, leaders, and legends of the game were purposeful threads in my tapestry. Near the end of 2006, there was a head coach opening at Regis Jesuit High School here in Denver. And at that time, I didn't know if I wanted to coach again. Didn't know if I could handle being around 25 daughters every day. Didn't know how I would coach if I could coach. But numerous friends from coaching and former players' parents urged me to apply an interview for the position, which I did. As I sat there in the interview, I told the AD, and we called him Koz my story and all the reasons not to hire me. I told him I don't know how I would react in practices or games. Would I be sad, mad, overprotective of the girls? I just didn't know. But Koz said the girls would know. They would understand. And they needed me to be their coach. So I took the job. And that first year, as predicted, I had times of being very sad, very mad, and very overprotective. It was an emotional season. And those girls carried me through that year. They were so understanding, inspiring, and made me so proud to be their coach. And their parents were amazing, so incredibly patient and supportive. There was one particular parent who asked me to lunch to get to know her daughter's new coach, but also to share her story since she knew mine. Olga had such empathy as she learned more about my story and journey. She then shared one powerful, life-changing event in her life. She told me about the moments when she stopped breathing after a surgery several years before and the experience she had until she was revived. She emailed me her story and suggested that I start writing down mine. As Olga shared the story about her time in the hospital, she wrote, My husband had been visiting, and then I told him to go and take a break, get something to eat, make phone calls, whatever he needed to do. I felt great and was going to rest. That was about 220 or 230 in the afternoon. After he left my room, I stopped breathing. I remember talking to my husband one minute, and the next, I'm in the most wonderful place. The first thing I noticed was this amazing blue-green color, most vibrant color that is indescribable. Then I see these people above me. I don't know if I'm sitting down or standing. I just know I was looking up at them. They were surrounding the front of me, making a half circle. They were very close together. They were communicating with me how happy they were to see me, but they weren't talking. I tell them how happy I am to be here. The joy and glory was overwhelming. I couldn't see their faces because there was a very bright light that I was looking up into. They just kept telling me over and over how happy they were. I could actually feel a warm breeze that started at my fingertips and went up through my body. I was overwhelmed with joy. It was the most glorious feeling, unimaginable, indescribable. I'm still basking in happiness, just so into the moment, this wonderful, glorious feeling. Then there was a clap, it seemed to be almost touching my face, then complete blackness, and then a kind, soft, but extremely firm voice says, It's time to wake up now. I say, Okay. This voice was not one that you would say no to, but I can tell you that I didn't want to wake up. I knew it meant going back, and I opened my eyes, and the first person I saw was my husband. Now, you may or may not believe in these near-death experiences when you hear about them. Well, I can tell you that I do. And as I processed Olga's story, it all started to make sense. So if you remember my experience on the flight back to Denver that I described in episode three, that overwhelming feeling of pure peace, pure joy that I felt when brushing against the passenger sitting next to me, and each time she touched me, well, it all became clear. I now understood that feeling. I knew it was from beyond this earth. I knew it was a tiny conduit. I knew Kristen was reaching out to me through Christine. I knew Kristen answered my question if she was okay. She was beyond okay. And I know that Olga was definitely a purposeful thread in my tapestry. So let's go back to that first week. If you remember from a previous episode, I mentioned that I needed to go and retrieve Kristen's belongings from where she had been living after she returned to Monroe. One of those items was her cell phone. I was desperate for answers and went through her phone with a fine tooth comb. I was looking at text messages, photos, phone calls, anything that might give me a better answer of what happened to her. There was one call in her phone that was puzzling. It was the last number she punched in. But it wasn't right. Now at that time, Kristen had a flip phone. And for those of you who remember those, if you wanted to send a text message, you needed to use the alphanumeric keys that corresponded with a letter you wanted. So I had Kristen's phone and was driving back to her mom's house and had a couple of friends in the car. When I saw the last entry, I pulled over and told my friends that we needed to figure this out, that the phone number was not an actual number. I mentioned the texting on those phones that you need to hit the pound sign for a space in a text. And I said it must be a text that she thought she was sending to someone. Instead, it was a call. So I read the sequence out loud. Seven, five, three, two, seven, three, a pound, four, three, five, seven, pound, six, three. I referenced the keypad and then said the first word is please. And they said the last two words are help me. So Kristen's last communication ever was please help me. And remember, one of the symptoms of ketoacidosis is confusion. I don't know who she thought she was texting, but her last plea was please help me. But that was at 3.26 p.m. on July 24th, 2006. And Kristen fell into a coma and died sometime before the next morning. But her plea did not go unanswered. So it was many months later, after processing all of the various interactions and experiences, that I was starting to get a glimpse of the front of my tapestry. It was a time that I referred to as bittersweet surrender. Yes, just like the big head Todd in the monster song Bittersweet Surrender. But it took a surrender on my part to see how it was all woven together. So let's start weaving it. I knew Michelle to understand that it wasn't Kristen's fault. Michelle was a nurse, very in tune with her body, and diabetes still took her life. Kristen was in tune as well. But ketoacidosis scrambled everything and put Kristen in a sleep she had no way of waking up from. I knew Luther because I was able to witness the agony he dealt with every day because he replaced the organs that diabetes destroyed in order to extend his life. Since that seemed to be the inevitable path for Kristen, would I have wanted her to be 30 years old, living in constant pain? No. And it seems that God didn't want that for her either. When she sent out that final plea of please help me, the only one to answer, the only one who could answer was God. He was the only one who could take her away from all the agony that was coming her way, and take her to a paradise that was an unimaginable peace. Olga described it as best she could. I physically felt a tiny fraction of it on that flight. I know she is now perfect, living in pure peace, living in paradise. But my beautiful daughter, my purpose for living, was gone from this earth. However, a new purpose presented itself in the hundreds of girls that I've coached over the years. Lacrosse and those girls gave me strength, they gave me laughter, they gave me life, they gave me purpose. There was a reason I was still here, still alive. While I now know all of this, you might ask me if it takes the grief away, if I'm over the loss, the answer is no. I'll never be over the loss, and the grief will always be part of my life. But as Gene Albert told me, I'll just learn to live life differently. And if you've lost a child, so will you. You might be in the middle of a very messy, chaotic nest of threads, but on the other side, out of your current sight, there is an amazing tapestry, your life's tapestry. Keep pushing through until you get a chance to see what everyone else sees when they look at you and your life's journey. Your purpose may not be clear or even visible right now, but it's there. You'll find it. Trust me on that one. Next time, I'll talk about what I thought was going to be the year of firsts, but it turned out to be years of firsts. I'll explain that next time.