The Smallest of Warriors - The Biggest of Hearts

Within each of us lies the embodiment of a champion. A wild spirit capable of greatness. Within a child lies the same gift, yet exponentially more viable. The lack of years and experience allows a child to truly “believe” and to foresee few (if any) stumbling blocks between their current state and their dreams, ideals, and ideology. We are all born with God given gifts, traits, and qualities. My son Kai was born with an amazing abundance of fortitude. Kai was born with lungs that were less than ideal. His ensuing years were full of medications, asthma, pain, sickness, and heartbreak. The pain of seeing your (then) only child suffering and unable to breathe is beyond comprehension even today. I have no words to describe what his mother and I went through. The sadness and pain in her eyes only deepened the anguish in my soul. The two people for whom I cared for more than the very air I breathed…were suffering immensely due to the lack of air for which he was able to breathe. I remember walking from the parking garage at Cook’s Children’s Hospital into the ER after dropping Peg and Kai off, and completely losing it. Sitting there on the curb between the garage and the hospital, I cried uncontrollably. Why him? Why not me? I’d have (and still would) given A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G to have taken away the pain and suffering that he was enduring. The same can be said for my desire to take away his mom’s pain. God works in funny ways sometimes, and I could not convince him to give me the pain. “Take me in place of the pain you have given these two”. I remember that night and sitting there on the curb and just wondering if he would ever be a “normal” child.


That evening Kai suffered a Spontaneous Pneumothorax, or as most people would understand it, a partially collapsed lung. It is a condition where air or gas is present in the pleural cavity. It can (and did) cause a partial collapse of the lung. In his case it was brought on by his weakened lungs and the presence of an infection. I have to tell you that it is one of the most frightening experiences I will ever face. I have/had seen respiratory emergencies while transporting patients in the ambulance while working for the fire department, but NOTHING could ever prepare you for seeing your own child go through this. Their skin turns cyanotic (blue), their breathing is labored and gradually their level of consciousness begins to deteriorate. Now if you are a parent, imagine your child going through this – literally slipping away before your eyes. I remember the night like it was yesterday. I remember that it didn’t seem “that bad” at first. Just another trip to the ER. We were used to them by then. Something was just different this night and the days that followed. It goes without saying that this type of experience can test your faith and rock you to the soul.


Kai would eventually get better and be released. All the while he was just that innocent little boy who wanted so badly to play sports, run, ride his bike, and be free of the plethora of medications he was forced to ingest. Many would make him shake and feel nervous. The litany of medications would ebb and flow over the years. We eventually relocated to Durango Colorado. One of the factors that made the move worth the risk (financially and otherwise) was the prospect that the cleaner, cooler air would help alleviate Kai’s symptoms. Peg and I never banked much on “luck” in our lives together, but for once we were truly LUCKY. Within a year of moving here Kai would join his first baseball team, the Durango Braves. No name could have been more fitting. He was a boy who only wanted to be free. Free from the sickness that kept him from being whatever it was that he was born to be. Free to chase his dreams through the hills, through the streets, through the life he was given. Kai was not born a “gifted athlete” in the conventional sense. He has had to work extra hard for all of his athletic accomplishments. I remember his practices for baseball and seeing his determination radiating from his eyes. The other boys would occasionally tease him when he couldn’t figure out how to do something, when he didn’t understand a rule, a tactic, or the terminology. But he never quit! The sheer uninhibited determination that he showed was absolutely astounding. I will never forget the lessons I learned while watching him bumble around and figure out how to be a “normal kid” out there. I was faced (as I am sure his mother was) with a new kind of pain, the pain of wanting to protect him in new ways. You just want to run out there and catch the ball for him, teach him the rules so he can understand, and run next to him as he steals that base – yet you can’t. This was his journey, and no matter how painful it was to watch, you had to let him go. The first time Kai hit the ball during a game was a moment forever etched into my very soul. I will go to my grave with a smile as long as that memory is there. Every parent on our team knew Kai’s story and there wasn’t an ass on a seat when he connected. I kept the video of that moment on my cell phone until I washed it (the phone was dirty and needed a bath). I found myself playing that video over and over again throughout the last 6 months of my life. It made all my worries seem so trivial. The deafening screams reverberating from the bleachers. I just wish I would have found a way to save that video. I’ll cherish it forever, even in its absence. The most dominant sounds on the video were those of his mom’s screams as well as mine. I am not sure who was louder. Kai made it to second base on that hit. I don’t remember if they won, I don’t remember if he scored, I don’t remember who they were playing, but I shall never forget the sharp crack of that bat crushing the ball and the two little legs flailing, and a body of a little boy trying to keep up with the little legs that propelled him. He would go on to make some other amazing plays that season. In the end, Kai was selected as Rookie of The Year. An honor and accomplishment that I hope he can truly appreciate someday. He EARNED every ounce of what he accomplished. No one held his hand or made it easy on him. I work part-time for the coach of that team now and I can tell you that he DOES NOT give hand outs. The pride that I feel when thinking back on that season is utterly indescribable. If you are a parent, I am sure you can imagine.


Kai’s life slowly began to change. His bouts of asthma had almost entirely diminished. His multiple episodes of a collapsed lung were a distant memory. He rode his bike all over our neighborhood, he ran, he rolled and wrestled with all the other kids. He was free. Earlier this year Peg and I realized that Kai was still dealing with one of the side effects of a young life kept from normalcy. Kept from chasing those gifts we are born with. Kai was very timid and almost afraid of everyday confrontations. I used to say (and it pains me to say it here) that he was “afraid of his own shadow”. As a parent, you want so badly to protect your kids from life, yet you want them to experience life. We just wanted Kai to be assertive. He was anything but! So we enrolled Kai in a program at Durango Martial Arts (DMA). DMA is a mixed martial arts studio. Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Muay Thai (Thai Boxing) are all they offer. I knew from my past experience with Muay Thai that this was a tough gamble. This wasn’t a sport of points, and katas (an intricate series of moves compared to a dance known in other martial arts) these two disciplines were about knocking out your opponent or tapping them out. Submitting them! Imposing your will upon a willing opponent. It was something that “ I “ always dreamed of for him. I wanted him to NOT be afraid. To be relentless in his pursuits and to not let anyone stand in his way. To know right from wrong and to know when to stand up and when to sit down. So in he went for his first couple of classes. Shy, withdrawn, and timid. That is how I could best describe his initial introduction.


Over time the kid surprised me again. All the feelings described above in regards to his baseball experience, can’t even touch the evolution I have witnessed at DMA. His instructors had all expressed interest in Kai’s progression. We sat with them prior to him enrolling just so they’d understand that Kai didn’t have all the opportunities that his peers did growing up. He wasn’t able to wrestle around the yard without the risk of suffering immense pain from his lungs not working right. All of his instructors began to see something within this little boy. I believe in my heart that Kai has a warrior spirit within his little soul. No one has “given” him anything (like I said before). He spent his younger years just dreaming of doing some of the things he does now. Now he has the chance and I believe that all those pent up dreams are bursting from his very pores. He is still like most kids, in the fact that his interest wanes from time to time, but he is magic on the mat. For a kid his size, age, and experience level, I see something in him that makes my heart pound with pride. I see the heart of a champion, the kid who won’t quit and who is no longer afraid. I truly thought that the experiences of his first baseball season could not be surpassed. Was I ever wrong?


August of this year was a trying time for Kai, Kealey and I. I am not (and never will be) the same person I was prior to the experiences of the last year, yet my concern for my kids consumed me more than anything else. I wanted them to feel a sense of normalcy. When the guys at DMA suggested we sign Kai up for his first tournament I thought it may be a little premature. He was going through a tough time in his life, as were the rest of us, and I just wasn’t sure he was ready for a tournament the size of the “Fight to Win” tournament they were recommending. Just the name of the tournament had me a bit concerned. Was he ready? Would he handle defeat well? We all are defeated in all aspects of our lives, but he was vulnerable in so many ways. Here I was trying to take the punches for him again. So we went. I was under an immense amount of stress in my life right at that time, and I was not looking forward to him and I driving 7 hours to Denver for this, but I knew it was what he wanted and I had accepted the fact that this could very well be a good experience for him. Then an incredible friend stepped forward and flew us up to Denver. Kai was ecstatic to fly. What kid doesn’t love floating above the clouds? Heck- what adult doesn’t love the same? Friday night we watched one of our instructors fight. By this time I had begun my own journey with DMA. I had done Muay Thai back when I met my wife. It was something that helped me through some tough years in my life, and here I was again finding solace through my fists and feet. I was just as excited to see Chris (our head instructor) fight. Kai was glowing with enthusiasm. Not for the brutality, but for the strength, honor, and courage that he was seeing Chris exhibit. You could see the pride in Kai’s eyes even as Chris walked to the ring. When Chris won Kai was almost hysterical with happiness. He told my friend Jay “that’s my instructor”. But that isn’t the story here.


The next day Kai weighed in early for his tournament. The tournament was a Jiu Jitsu tournament. Not MMA! They don’t let these little guys exchange blows. It is about submissions and gaining points (the points are less desirable than a submission) over your opponent. He weighed in and just barely made weight. Had he been 3 pounds heavier, he’d have been bumped up a class. I was nervous for that but in hindsight…I know now that he could have handled it. There were a bunch of us from DMA there. Kai’s coaches (Matt and Jeff) were there for Kai as well as his little buddy Dylan. I was there as his biggest fan. He was a bit nervous and you could see it. The place was packed with about a dozen mats and HUNDREDS of people, and lots of eyes to watch your every move on the mat. That timidness I mentioned before? It was gone. Kai wasn’t afraid to walk around and talk to people. He wasn’t afraid of his shadow. He was nervous about his results. He wanted to do well so badly. He needed success in whatever capacity he interpreted that. He had no clue that his dad was even more of a wreck. I wanted him to survive long enough to just have a small taste of success. To just feel that he had come so far.


We gathered around the mat for his age group and bracket. Kai was nervous and you could tell. He had come so far on this journey. Our lives had taken a VERY unexpected turn and we were still reeling from that. The pain he endured over his life (almost 13 years) seemed a distant memory, yet he was faced with a lifetime of pain, confusion, and questions now. He had made a few comments to me on the plane ride up that truly made me realize the effects of what he was going through. I had no words other than – “just focus on your opponent and what you need to do”. I told him to “visualize success and to picture himself getting his medal”. I am proud of my son and believe in him immensely, but I am also realistic and it pained me to say those words and not know if he’d prevail. He was pacing around, knowing that his name would be called soon. The kids fighting before him were a conglomerate of abilities. Most were pretty darn good. I remember the butterflies in my stomach and looking at the young man that stood before me. He had endured so much in his life, and here he was again enduring a certain hell, yet fighting like the champion he is. I had spent the prior evening in restless, sleepless anxiety. I was scared for life, scared for him, scared for the future. I was telling myself to “visualize success..etc, etc.”. Like the memorable moments of his baseball days, I will never forget the sound of his name being called and the look he gave me. His shoulders sunk. He was standing right in front of me. Every bit of anger, anxiety, hate, and pain that I felt over the last few months meant NOTHING right then. His head looked to the floor as he stood in front of me. What do I say? I stood there with him as they worked out who Kai would be fighting. No words. He just stood there for what seemed like forever. It was likely only a minute. I could feel his heart beating, though he stood a foot away. I could see the fear in his eyes. I had been there. The lump in his throat. Unless you have stood toe to toe with an opponent who is equally skilled, you just don’t realize that it takes more than fists, feet, fury, and skill to win a battle. It takes heart. Before me stood a little warrior with a heart so pure and true. A heart of a gladiator who earned every step that brought him to this moment. I finally reached up and put my hand on his shoulder, still searching for something “great” to say. I told him “Kai – I am more proud of you than I have ever been and you are a winner the second you step onto that mat.” He looked me dead in the eye and I could see that it meant something to him. Not sure what, but he heard what I said and I have NEVER meant anything more than that moment…my last words to him before he stepped out onto the red matt was “be strong and fight hard”.


Kai would go on to fight approximately a dozen fights. He fought kids who almost beat him, who cried at defeat, who trained longer than him. I look at the video now and all I see on the screen is the essence of a Warrior. Slim and slight, once timid, yet now confident. Years of insecurity were left on that mat. Kai fought more than his opponents. He fought adversity and turmoil. Kai left it all on the mat. He walked out of that building a champion. Maybe not to everyone, but to his dad he was a champion. We are supposed to teach our kids about life, survival, persistence, and how to fight the battles that matter most. On this day Kai showed me how to do all of these things…and more. These words have been a futile attempt to express the absolute pride of a father in the heart of a warrior who has earned all he has.
Jim

PS – Kai took second place in both categories he fought in. An astonishing achievement in its own right…but one second only to the lessons he learned and taught me along the way. He still looks at those medals frequently and smiles…he should – he earned them. Kai didn’t just “taste” success…he feasted on it and he deserved it.

Listening to the Silence

The silence that surrounds me is deafening. The reckoning silence that inhabits your soul is incomprehensible to even the most basic of reasoning within. You lie alone at night, ever more over the months, contemplating and reasoning as to what brought on the silence that surrounds you. The loss of love and kindness that consumed your daily existence seems surreal and distant, yet the quiet you feel deepens with each passing day. Within that silence you are consumed by the memories of a love that still burns real within your soul. Deep and pervasive it monopolizes your thoughts. You accept the facts at face value, yet you cannot comprehend the reasoning. The inarticulate stillness is there. The peace within this stillness is something that allows you to contemplate the hatred that is poured upon you. You cannot reason as to why, or how, one can feel such utter discontent and anger for the person you are beyond this tangled mess. Your mind is packed with memories that make you smile alone in the night.

You gradually elicit the good that was. You replace your own anger and anguish with the years of laughter and kindness. The kindness that was, becomes the silent warrior that caries you through to the next day. You listen to that silence within your mind, as one would listen to a wise sage of old. I have listened intently to those memories of a time past. To the laughter that filled a house full of hope and love. Deep inside the nightly silence I hear the footsteps of a time past. Of the small footsteps creeping into my room in the middle of the night. Those minuscule foot steps creeping to my bedside to tell me "daddy I'm scared". Your reassurance worth it's weight in gold. The look across a darkened room as that little soul crawls into bed between you and the comrade in arms who too was there to protect the innocence that lies between you. The gentle smile and touch of your soul mate as you look into the eyes of the other half of the equation that equals peace and sanctity, to the scared little child that has crept to your side for security. On the other side of the bed lay the other half of the wall that surrounded your child as she lie there in peace. The quiet that followed was interrupted only by the sounds of the air passing through the lungs of the two souls next to yours. You would eventually move to a place of alternate rest (the couch) because the little fitful feet that prodded you through the night could only serve to lengthen the sleepless night before you. You would always creep down the stairs, past the crackling fire, into the room of the other innocent soul dwelling in the house, just to listen to the breath that whispered to you in the night. Just to make sure he too was okay. All that mattered to you lay quiet and peaceful, at rest and in peace within those walls.

Countless nights I listened to that silence within the logs we called home. Never once taking for granted the gift I was given. I miss the sound of that silence, the serenity of that peace. All to often I find myself in silence now. I sleep little and wander these empty rooms often, searching for the gentle breath whispering softly from underneath the sheets. I sleep little, and wake often when sleep does come, looking for those eyes across the pillow. I know that my mistakes have taken that gift, "our" mistakes. To see beyond the errors of our ways is easy for me, impossible for her. To see the good that was is natural and comforting. I know the punishment I face will last a lifetime, the pain eternal. I listen to the silence in hope that I will hear her whisper in the middle of the night, telling me that she is there and feeling her gentle touch across my brow. All I feel is the emptiness of a space vast and lacking. All I hear is the wind on my window. All I feel are the tears falling from my eyes and soaking my pillow. Love is quiet, love can be silent, the love left will remain silent for a lifetime. Unwanted and repelled forever with a discontent that is all to real.

Silence can penetrate the strongest of hearts, the strongest of souls. I find as time goes by, that I have run out of words. Ways to express my sorrow, regret, anger, frustration, and most of all the eternal love that I will carry for the rest of my days. It matters not to the recipient, yet it carries me through to the next day. The silence is beckoning and I find peace within it. I find the quiet within this house is now a source of contemplation and relaxation. As I sit and drink my coffee underneath the tree outside my door, breathing in the crisp morning air as the sun rises before me, I hear a new voice. The voice of acceptance, the voice of nonsensical comprehension. I cannot understand, and frankly I am not sure I am supposed to. I have found the gentle breath of two little angels again. Though my time is limited and continually altered, I find utter joy in taking a moment to wander into their rooms and just listen...listen to the peace within their breath.

In the not to distant past, I was taken through a process of floating in a hot spring with my feet elevated on the side, reclined, with my head in the hands of someone who understands. She gently placed my head beneath the water so that my ears were just below the surface, and held me there. All the silence, all the stillness, became as enriching as any sound I had heard. The compassion and kindness in those hands, in the conversation that followed, all the memories floating in that space around me. I felt weightless in so many ways. I realize now that the experience then was no different than the nights I spend alone now. If you listen, all the laughter, whispers, breaths, and kindness are still there. Through the cruel actions and words, there is a gentleness ever present within. The eyes you look into now are not of the same being, but somewhere deep within those eyes there is a past full of memories and a life shared in union and mutual respect. The words have become harsh and scornful, yet you still hear the voice of an angel...however distant it may be, it is still somewhere within. Like the finest of musical notes, it is not the note that defines the music, but the silence between the notes. You just have to listen intently. Listen closely to what matters and listen between the notes. Somewhere out there, whether under my tree drinking coffee, under the warm water that surrounds me, or right here in this empty house, there is a deafening rhythm to this life. The silence that surrounds me is full of the sound of life. The love within will remain outwardly silent, but forever audible within. That silence reigns supreme and within it I find peace. In the mornings as I sip my coffee out on the deck, watching the sun rise before me, I listen. I listen intently to the silence around me, the the rhythm of this life.