There was sadness all around me last week. What a way to start a post, right? But sadness surrounded those I love, and all I can do today is share what the existence of those lost meant to me.
One of the last blogs I wrote spoke of my grandmother who passed, and I discussed the gifts I feel she bestowed on my young heart that I wasn’t able to appreciate and now do. I write similarly today regarding one of the greatest, albeit orneriest, men I’ve ever known and one I never got to know.
I am an athletic trainer, have been since I was 15 year old. In 1998 I met a man who would change the course of my career and lead me down the path I currently travel. Dr. KDP introduced me to rodeo sports medicine in Missoula, MT and provided me infinite words of wisdom as I began my young career.
It was through KDP that I learned to never place a hose across a driveway, so no one could run it over and damage the hose, and to wipe out coolers and leave the lid off in the sunshine to dry. I learned it was easier to throw 10 rocks one at a time out of the path than to haul 10 at a time. In truth, I misheard him on that one and didn’t realize my mistake until he said “or just do it however you want.” I learned that BBQ sandwiches taste better during barrel racing and that tequila is better after a Griz win. Pie and ice cream was always the better choice than a beer after a rodeo, and KDP liked buying dinner for a poor college student in Missoula better than in Seattle.
KDP was light. He winked when he smiled that always made you think he was up to something. He drove an automatic red pickup with two feet, one for the brake and one for the gas. He never did anything you or I would call trite, but he always knew what was best for the patients in his care, even if it was a verbal kick in the butt. I spent two years in college and five years as a professional athletic trainer traveling with KDP throughout Montana to various rodeos. I wanted to soak up every ounce of knowledge he was willing to provide. Sure, I made mistakes but he never held it over my head or made me feel dumb. Everything was a lesson, learn from it and move on.
I lost touch with KDP over the years, something I can never forgive myself for, although social media allowed me to keep in contact with his son. I think of KDP's children today. I can only imagine their sadness in losing their father. No words can help ease any sort of sadness in their heart, but I hope that knowing how much their father was loved helps. I think of my best rodeo sports medicine friend RKS and how much KDP meant to him. I’m sad for my friends. I’m sad for the time I missed to fill KDP in on my life and introduce him to #teamharrell and have the littles know a truly great man.
I was hired for my first job because of KDP. I kept my first job because of the lessons he taught. I moved on to earn two post-professional degrees to continue improving a profession (athletic training) that he believed in and supported. I knew one day, as we all know, that God would call this great man home, but the reality is much more difficult. I pray to see him again some day. I know he is upstairs chewing on a swisher sweet and yelling at one of the cowboys who was taken from us too soon. Lane Frost comes to mind, and the term Cowboy Up. I hope he knows how much we on earth love him and miss him, and that even when we failed to keep in touch he was never far from my mind and heart.
The other man, never got to be a man. He never got to see the outside of a hospital or feel grass on his little legs. BabyJ would be 4 years old now. I can still remember the message that something was wrong and that BabyJ’s mother was going into labor early. Then I remember the picture of the sweet little boy who was too sick and in danger. Out of respect for his family, you will just have to trust me when I say heartbreak is the only word. That night I cried like I never had before for the baby I never got to know and the friend I was too far away to console. I feel the same today.
No one should have to go through the pain of losing a child. There are no words a single person can say to take away the pain and hole left in the wake of such loss. If there was a way, I would gladly take up breathing for my friend on the days she feels like she cannot, and take away every ounce of pain.
If. Only. I. Could.
Although life continues to move forward for BabyJ’s family there will always be a piece stuck in 2014.
BabyJ should know he has a beautiful big sister and adorable little brother. He should be running around and playing with balls, and bugs, and learning about dinosaurs. He’s not doing those things today, and there is no explanation why. I like to believe he is upstairs doing all those things we as adults think he should be doing down here. I want to believe BabyJ’s existence, although much too short, helped his mother follow a path that can lead to healing for other mothers both physically and mentally.
I want my friend to know our core group will stand by her and pick her up when she feels she can’t go on.
That’s what we do.
I want other mothers going through grief to know there are people who care. October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. The statistics are staggering, and I hope that those living with grief, like my friend, are able to feel all the feels without loss of self.
What do I hope to accomplish by writing this blog? What do I want? Well, I WANT to take away the pain. I WANT for neither of these events to have happened. However, I can only offer these words as a tribute to my dear friend and a small little wonder. Although our bodies may vanquish, please let these words last and demonstrate the love one person has for a group.
