Sunday, June 23, 2019

"Don't let it ruin your vacation..."

A while back, I started to write about things not to say to a person who is grieving. People have asked me to help them know how to respond to loss and, as this is an important part of that, I feel I should share what I've learned.

What I learned while trying to write that post is that I have a lot of unprocessed, painful emotion around some things that were said to us in the past year. I pulled open that internal door and was floored by what poured out. I am not ready yet to talk about those things publicly.

I do think it is a deeply important conversation, though, so I thought I'd start talking about it through a trauma that is not quite so fresh.

Some of you know about a traumatic experience that our family had in the summer of 1994.

Lee and I had taken our two little children camping, along with our first Golden Retriever, Mandy.

We had camped at the Standish Hickey State Recreation Area on the Eel River in California.

I think it was on the second day of our time there that we walked over to play in the river. We have some wonderful pictures of our little two- and four-year old kiddos playing in the sparkling blue water in their bright orange life jackets.

What the pictures don't show is what branded that day on all our memories, for life.

As we were enjoying our fun water time, Lee suddenly said, "I think those people are calling for help." I had not heard anything, but he had. We gathered up our little troop and headed upriver. The shore was rocky, so we were wearing sturdy shoes. As we got closer, Lee heard what the people were shouting. He gave me his watch and rushed into the water, swimming across the deep hole to where a frantic man and woman stood, on the far bank.

A family with four or five growing boys was having a fun camping trip in the same park. One of them, a boy of around twelve, wanted to play on the river, so he took one of those floaty-mattress pool toys to use. He went in where the water was shallower and started floating down. At some point he fell off, and ended up in a deep pool.

He could not swim, and neither could his parents. They crashed through the shallower water upriver and scrambled along the rocky bank. They could see him down in the water, but they could do nothing to save him. They stood on the bank, helpless and desperate, screaming for someone to come.

Without hesitating, Lee dove down to the bottom of the hole and pulled up their boy. He was not breathing. We had no experience or training with life-saving, but Lee started doing what he could, trying to express the water and give him mouth-to-mouth. We were all so focused on the boy that it took Lee's startled shout to make me realize that the dad had disappeared into the water. Maybe he had a heart attack or stroke from the intense distress. We don't know. We only know that he was there, and then he was gone, sinking to the bottom of the same deep pool that took his son.

Leaving the boy up on the rocks with his mom, Lee again dove down to the bottom of that deep hole. He brought the man to the surface, but Lee was tiring so quickly that he could not hold him up pand bring him to shore. He had to let the man go. I told our little Heather, four years old, "Hold onto Mandy and Michael. Do not let them in the water!" I told little two-year-old Michael, "Stay with Heather!"

Though I am a poor swimmer at best, I headed into the water.

There was no-one else to do it. I had to.

I dove down, pushing myself all the way to the bottom of the hole, grabbed that big man by the arm, and hauled him to the surface. I have always been convinced that God sent angels to help me that day. The guy was tall and heavy, probably well over two hundred pounds...and I pulled him from twelve feet down to the surface, with one hand. Angels.

I towed him over and passed him off to Lee and the man's wife, then struggled back to the shore where our little kids waited. I barely made it. I was exhausted by the time I staggered from the water.

Like I said, we had absolutely no experience or training with life-saving, so it had not occurred to either of us to take off our shoes before diving in. We just didn't know. Wearing heavy sneakers to swim and dive, under intense stress, will do you in.

We had no background to help us. We were simply the only two people on that whole stretch of river, besides those frantic parents.

After I made it back to shore, another guy showed up and swam across to help. Soon, others came. I remember shouting, "Call 911!!!" over and over, until someone assured me that one of the others had gone to make the call.

Soon, the sirens came screaming. Professionals helped bring father and son across, using our kids' life jackets to help float them, and rushed them away in ambulances. It was much too late, as both were gone before we pulled them from the water, but still every effort was made to bring them back.

The ambulances left, and the crowd milled around, excitedly talking over what had happened. I saw this wife and mother standing, stunned, alone in the crowd. I went to her and wrapped my arms around her. I think I was the only one there who realized who she was. She held onto me so tightly.

That whole scene is a vivid scar on all our memories. For me, the worst parts are the memory of the man's face, as I pulled him up through the green water, lifeless.... and the desperate embrace of that suddenly bereaved wife and mom as I held her close in the faceless crowd.

For Lee, it was the trauma of being in the middle of such intense loss, and then the fear that he could not make it back across the river; the horror it would be to his own little family if he drowned in front of us. The possibility was all too real. It had just happened to this other family, and he was exhausted from all he'd done to help.

For the kids, the trauma lingered also. For Heather, it was the terrible responsibility of keeping a strong dog and a very young brother safely on the riverbank, while watching both her parents disappear into deep water, then struggle to make it back to shore. For Michael, the intense desire to do something was so strong that he actually thought he'd been out in there river with us, helping.

As I hugged that mama close, and thought of the immensity of her loss. I started to shake. Shock was setting in and I couldn't handle any more. I was only twenty-six. I did not know what else to do. I pulled away from that poor lady and we went quietly back to camp.

There was no question of staying. How could we possibly go back to having fun after such an experience?

A man we knew stopped by as we were loading up to leave. I think he worked for the Department of Fish and Game and had some law enforcement background. He was surprised to see us getting ready to go.

Here is where we reach the point of this story; the Things Not To Say part:

"You're going home? Why?"....

"Don't let it ruin your vacation."

We both just stared at him in disbelief.
I'm not even sure what Lee said in reply.

How do you even answer such a thing?

There we were, a young couple who had just pulled a dead father and son from the river bottom, whose two young children had just watched people die and seen us nearly drown trying to help, and.......don't let it ruin our vacation????

We did.
We let it ruin our vacation.

All we could think of was that sweet lady who had just lost her husband and her son within five minutes, and of her other boys, bereft of their dad and brother. We were in shock and deeply shaken. We headed home.

We left so quickly that we were long gone before the news reporters came looking for "heroes" to interview. The guy who swam over to help after Lee and I had pulled both of them from the river was credited as the big man who tried to save the day. Whatever. We shuddered at the thought of having to talk to anyone about it. It was horrifying.

But...don't let it ruin your vacation.

I think of that wife and mama every year when the middle of July rolls around, praying for her and her other boys, wondering how they're doing. I wish I could have held myself together a little longer; held her close for a few more minutes...helped her more.

I hope she's okay. I wish I could give her a hug.

Here's the thing: We should be impacted by tragedy and trauma and the sorrow of others.

Yes, it is terribly uncomfortable to be up close to suffering, but it is cowardly and selfish to sweep it away with dismissive words. Those kinds of words add damage on top of heartache on top of trauma. They leave scars.

It should ruin our vacation.

It should touch our deepest core and move us to reach out in love and mercy.

It should change us, and if we're wise, we'll learn from it and grow deep with compassion.

It should ruin our vacation, and it should change us for life.

~~~~~

*In memory of Gary and Linus Carter, who lost their lives that day, and of their family, who lost so much in one tragic afternoon.*










2 comments:

  1. Oh Kristie, there are no appropriate words to add to what you said. Of course it would ruin a vacation and haunt you a very long time!!!
    When we are followers of Christ, we mourn with those who mourn, rejoice in answered prayers. We should feel it in the pit of our soul when tragedy happens, and heartfelt compassion should absolutely follow.
    I watched First Baptist Church rise to the occasion nearly a year ago, when news of Michael's death became known. The verse that kept running through my head was when one member of the body hurts, everyone hurts. (Paraphrased terribly). To this day, my heart aches for you all. The ache reminds me to continually pray for you all, that Jesus will comfort you as you find your way through grieving.
    When my father in law passed away, I reminded several critics that each person grieves differently, and there is no timeline for grief. It just IS.
    I love and miss you, and continue to lift your sweet family in prayers.
    Amy Peterson

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    Replies
    1. Thank you so much, dear friend. <3 You're right- we truly did experience the family of God loving the way we're supposed to love, in those hard, hard days. <3 True words- grief just IS, and it looks and feels very different for each person. I love you friend. Thank you so much for your prayers. I FEEL them, in a very real way. <3 <3 <3

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