The Richest Poor Man

What is it to be poor? What does it look like? What does it feel, or look like to TRULY be hungry. Is it the quiet gentle soul minding his own business as he pushes his shopping cart stuffed with his worldly belongings past you on the street? Is it the person holding a sign on the corner asking for help, swallowing every ounce of pride to stand out there in total humiliation as the world drives by and rolls up their windows while passing judgment on what “that homeless guy would do should I give him money”? Is it the face of a hungry child who lives in a car in some abandoned lot looking through their bedroom window of an old beat up car? Or is poverty the masses I look out at every weekend through my bedroom window as they line up at the soup kitchen a mere 60 yards from my condo? I’d bet that my friend Jeremy knows what poverty is as he works at the homeless shelter a scant 30 yards from the soup kitchen. Poverty and pain; richness and joy, how often do we see these words used in combination with one another? Is it fair to say that most of us have associated one with the other? Have you ever done anything to help change that pain to even the briefest moment of joy for someone else? Do you find yourself switching lanes when you come up to a red light where one of those “pan handlers” is standing, frantically rolling up your window and resolutely promising not to “look over there”? Have you ever been poor? Have you ever been in need? Do you know what it feels like to wonder if you will have a place to live tomorrow, or if you’ll be able to make the truck payment next month? What about that electric bill and those groceries? The attorney(s) who call and want the money that you owe still for their heroic battle to keep your kids in your life for HALF of what it was before…have you ever felt that pain? Have you ever sat at a business lunch with a VERY important associate and not heard one word they said because all you can do is feel guilty for eating such an amazing lunch when you don’t even know what you’ll feed your kids that night? Staring at your plate and just losing all apatite and knowing the right thing to do was go get a “to go” box and bring what is left home.



The litanies of questions I ask in the preceding paragraph are ones that I have always tried to be aware of from my pre-teen years until now. I spent some time in those years “running”. Running from reality, the law, my parents, and any sense of authority. I’ve slept in abandoned cars and in a park a few times as my parents frantically looked for me. I knew then (or so I thought) what it meant to be cold and hungry…alone. I am thankful for the experiences from that time in my life as they have never left my memory and those nights trying to find a place to sleep have fueled the fire that I have inside to NEVER GIVE UP. I am far from perfect, far from being the most altruistic person I know, yet I am the first to dart across lanes of traffic, or slow down and jockey over to time the red light just right in order to reach down into my cup holder and hand that stranger who shares that common thread of “pain”…a handful of hope from my ash tray. Whether it be fifty cents or a couple of dollars, I do it to this day. I am no saint, nor am I anything but a human with a little compassion, but I write this blog at a time in my life where (as a wonderful person recently told me) “my past makes sense”. You see, on paper and to the majority of this tiny little mountain resort town, I seem to be doing pretty good. Steady job. Great pay, nice truck, beautiful kids, survived a horrid divorce…..stop right there. We’ll come back to that “survived” part. So my past makes sense because I have always been that guy who’d stop and sit with a homeless person and just talk to them. Never condescending or contrite, just as if you or I were sitting there talking. I know now that my past prepared me for my future. I feel as though I have always had a heart for those who have less than “us”. Maybe it was God preparing me for the war I’d face over the last year. Maybe He was building my armor and strengthening my defenses…who knows. I do know this – poverty to most people is the rationalization that one is “poor” because he/she “has not”. I think that is a pretty fair assessment as I believe if you pass through the differing classes among us that poverty line shifts. My kids and I say our prayers almost every single night when they are here. On our knees, by the bed, and to this very day my kids (both of them) always ask God to “be with those who are homeless and hungry or have less than us”. It brings tears to my eyes EVERYTIME I hear that. I’m drifting here so let’s get back to why I asked these questions in my very public blog…I ask you to sit and think about what it means to be poor, what it means to be hungry, and what it means to feel the pain of a society who will not help. I ask you these things because they are things that I hold near and dear to my heart. It is something that I literally see when I look out my bedroom window in this little resort town that most people envision (and rightfully so to an extent) as a place closer to heaven and more beautiful than most of us have the opportunity to live. I ask you these things because for the first time in my life I know. I know what it feels like. I live it every day, and it is by far one of the most humbling experiences of my life as well as one of the most humiliating things I have ever had to admit. To most it could come as a shock..but it is what it is.



So back to where I “survived” a divorce. I hear that so often and it always makes me angry. Of course I survived..it’s what I do..it’s how I roll. But assuring the survival of the bonds I have with my children is a battle that NO ONE is prepared for. To have your humanity and dignity stripped away over this process is something that I wish not upon my worst enemy. Stop and grasp that for a minute – humanity and dignity. A very basic human need amongst us all right? What about those standing on the street holding the sign? Those sleeping under a bridge on a cold winter night? They too have it stripped on a daily basis and I know how it feels. I made it through the divorce, and more importantly I can say to hell with the divorce…I made it through the loss of not only my humanity and dignity..but even more potent, I survived the loss of my soul mate. Now that I am two days post the one year mark, I find myself thinking daily of how my life has improved. That’s what I said – improved. I have found, once again, what I had lost slowly over the years. I have learned to appreciate every dollar that I have and to find a way to make it stretch. I have an indescribable gratitude for every breath that passes through these lungs. I have learned that the simple things are the greatest things. I have watched a darkened sky become filled with friends who have reached out and helped me find my way. My sky is brighter everyday as these stars continually come into my life. So I didn’t “survive” a divorce, I merely survive daily and grow daily; for now the reality is there of being a single father, provider, and example to two of the bravest kids I have ever met. I will never forget the feeling of signing the final divorce papers knowing that one walked “free” while the other took on insurmountable (so they think) debt. Shovel on a helping of having to still pay “the other half” when you took the bills and walked away instead of fight, as well as the fact that you still pay that one due to their lack of ambition, attorney’s fees to no end…okay I’ll stop there but you get the picture. I didn’t survive, I’m surviving, and I will continue to do so.


The months have ticked by and I become happier every day. I become more appreciative to all that I have and as bizarre as it sounds I become more appreciative of all that I “don’t have” as well. My life has become simpler than it has ever been. You see, I am not just saying I am “poor”, I am. That was me sitting across from a business associate. It was me who could barely stomach the simple act of eating when I knew not how I’d feed my kids and pay all of the bills. My past may have gotten me this far, but I assure you that nothing prepared me for this, or did it? To TRULY wonder how I would survive from day to day. Without a car I could not take my kids to school each day, and therefore someone might pounce on that opportunity to try and take them from me (again). If I have no home of my own, ditto. No electricity? Ditto. No phone? Ditto. No job…you get it. So while I may still have a roof over my head (due to the kindness of a man who’s heart is bigger than all of these problems combined –thanks Ed), I wonder daily what is around the corner. I have been working nonstop for 6 months straight, to the point of total delirium in fact, because it would be easy to just give up..but would you? Or would you look out that bedroom window and find the will to keep fighting?



I look out that window on weekends and I see the shelter and the soup kitchen. I see the faces and the little hands holding big hands as they walk in. I always look at their hands, the kids I mean, and it just always seems like they are held by bigger hands. You can see in the body language, that even without food, a home, etc; the instinct of that parent is to never give up. Even if it means walking into a soup kitchen, and into the judgmental eyes of many. I’ve stood at my window and cried knowing that I am so close to those two places, not just geographically, but financially. I thank God every day for my job, another chance, another opportunity to fight this beast, because that could very well be me standing in that line. I went for a run on the river trail the other day and soaked up the sun and just let it all go for a bit. As I continued on I couldn’t help but let the numbers run through my head..I have this much..I have to pay this..wait I have to pay that..truck, rent, child support, electric, again and again the numbers dance through my head. And then it happened. I was running back towards my house and there is a park nearby and in that park, in the greenest spring grass, amongst all the Durangoans chasing the spring sunshine, a Frisbee, or hacky sack, there lay a homeless man. One I have seen many times. I had come to my stopping place where I stretch out then walk home to cool off, but this time I stretched a bit longer. In my self pity as I ran, I had forgotten all of the lessons that I described above, but here in the grass was a man for whom mom’s were very politely whisking their kids away from. A man who humbled my heart because I was worrying about how I’d buy groceries and there lay a man who probably hadn’t eaten in days. All along…he was making angels in the grass, and laughing. That’s right, snow angels..in the grass..on a spring day..with no snow. I BS you not. Just to get it out there, no he isn’t crazy and I feel that is a fair assessment as I have talked to the man.



Suddenly I just felt like all of my worries, while pertinent, just didn’t matter right then. I just sat on the picnic table fiddling with my shoes and watching. I love to watch..to people watch, and this was a real gem. I watched a little toddler slip away from his mommy and run right over to him and plop down in the grass next to him and make his own little innocent angels. The man just laughed. Even better was to see mini angel’s mom come over and not whisk him away. Instead she sat in the grass and yup..plopped down on her back and made an angel. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. For a moment an angel came along and took it all from my mind. I had to be to work so I just hurried along and smiled the whole way home. In the heart of a homeless man I saw peace and an angel. I survive with moments like these in my heart. Maybe I am out there looking for them. Maybe they find me, but I know that I am where I am today because of the love of friends who wouldn’t let me quit. I am here today because of the love of my mom and dad, my brother and his wife, a friend who came back from long ago, and a multitude of friends who picked me up again and again.



So it is that I came to this writing about being poor. About having “less than”. I feel pity for those who pity those of us with less cluttered lives. Sure I have bills and worries still, but something fantastic happens to you when you get to a place like this. You survive, and even more so, you “know” what it is to have survived. You get through it and along the way you gain SO MUCH MORE than the material things you lost. You gain love, appreciation, humility, humbleness, and a sense that life, when taken to the bare essentials, is just that – LIFE, glorious and uncluttered. My past makes sense now and it has led me to where I am today. I look in the mirror and I can say that for the first time in 17 or so years, I like where I am and I LOVE who I am. I feel in my soul that my relationship with my kids has flourished and the opportunity for us three to grow from this is astounding. I don’t know what I’ll feed them next week when they are here, but I KNOW that I’ll not let them down and I will figure it out. I know that the brightest of stars have been placed in my sky so that I may see when things get dark. I know that nothing lasts forever, but a little kindness and humility..a little joy can last longer than all else. I wonder every single day if it will be “the” day that someone will try and take my kids again, so I spend every moment with them in total gratitude. With all of these lessons in my heart I realize that we may have to eat Ramen Noodles, but as far as life goes…we are feasting on Steak and Lobster…. I may “have not” what most people would call riches, but I assure you that because of people like my friends, my family, and a very special friend who recently came into my life, I have hope…and that makes me the richest poor man you will ever know. Within poverty one can truly find joy.


*As a “post script” I want to thank every single reader, friend, family member, church member, training partner, climbing partner, stranger, and most of all the angel in the park for giving me hope and showing me what humanity is made of. I had someone proof this posting and immediately asked what they could do to help me…YOU CAN REMEMBER – that is “what you can do”. The next time you see someone down and out, reach out your hand. Take chances on strangers..hop in your truck and drive a thousand miles to meet one, or see family just because it is those relationships that make you rich. Do that for the Meyer family and you carry on the memory of what we have learned. Take a meal to someone who is hungry, what about those old blankets in your closet? Clothes that don’t fit? That is “what you can do to help us”. If nothing else, stop tonight with you family and be thankful for what you DO have. And don’t worry about us..I never give up!
With everlasting love and hope ~ The Meyer Family

Life is a Highway

Bouncing in the back seat of the red Vega, along a stretch of mountainous highway, Credence Clearwater Revival blaring from the speakers, we drove through clouds laden with moisture and cool with a refreshing and purifying sensation. I remember my dad rocking out to the tunes and my brother and I arguing in the back seat. We were unrestrained because back in the 70’s that’s how it was. It was a stretch of road high in the Alaska backcountry and we were heading to fish one of the many rivers that my dad loved to take us to. I believe we were headed to the Russian river, but I cannot be sure. The images dance around my head and I find myself smiling and feeling grateful for that little spark of memory from so long ago. I remember the windows being cracked and just the cool mist penetrating the world inside our little bubble. The laughter is deafening. We were so alive and so happy. We were in the mountains where we blonged. We were with our dad and nothing was better than that. At one point the clouds abated and we momentarily pierced the clouds into a pocket of radiant, warm light. Then back into the clouds. This stretch of highway is full of tunnels that take you through what the men who built the road WOULD NOT accept as “inpenetrable mountains”. When you can’t get around it, over it, or under it, you gotta just blast right through it. Sometimes I think that I must have been one of these highway builders in a past life…if I believed in past lives.


Driving through the tunnels was always a sudden blast of energy from the back seat. My brother and I would scream and bounce higher. My dad would blare the horn and flash his lights. We’d continue through the darkness, towards the light at the end of the tunnel where we’d countinue our journey to our campsite. This scenario would be repeated again and again, never would my dad grow tired of the two wound up kids in the back seat. I understand that now and cherish similar moments with my kids. I thrive on the energy my kid’s posses. Life would go on and we would move to Hawaii where the roads passed directly through more mountains. Next we’d move to California where much was the same. I still get a kick out of driving through the tunnel at Wolf Creek Pass just east of Pagosa Springs. I’m kind of a dork when it happens. I’m an adult now (or so they say) but I can instantly be transported back to that Alaskan highway so many years ago. I still honk the horn when I pass through tunnels.


Along the highway of life, I have been faced with many dark, scary tunnels. Some have carried me through a realm which I thought inpenetrable, some have been short, some long, some winding, yet the term “tunnel” would suggest (and require) that there is an end. Another side. I have often tried in vain to climb over the mountains ahead of me. I have realized that sometimes you have to stay on the road and go through a dark tunnel in order to get to the other side. Sometimes when you get to the other side you come out of the clouds and into a pocket of light, and still sometimes you are faced with another tunnel. My life over the last year and a half has been full of peaks, valleys, and tunnels. Darkness and light. Metaphorically speaking, it is easy to compare my life changing injury and my life changing loss of my wife to a journey through a valley full of mountains and cloudy mist. The times between these monumental life changing events have been full of so much happiness and joy. The laughter from the back seat, the honking of the horn, the splashes of light as you emerge from dark moments, are all so much more relevant and meaningful than the struggles that I have passed through.


The memories of traveling down life’s highway can be seen metaphorically from many different angles. Some of us out there see life as a journey full of mountains, oceans, rivers, etc. Still others see life as just the period between birth and death. I’ll stick to option A. I have passed through many mountains in my life which I thought inpenetrable. I’ve tried to find my way over, around, and often under these challenges, yet it is often that going straight through them is best. Sure it’s dark and dank, but you can crack the window, turn up the stereo, and blast your horn. You can fill your vehicle with laughter and joy. You can embrace those friends who have made the journey with you. When you do get through on tunnel you can rest assured that the approaching light is stupendously refreshing. You can bathe in its glory and soak up its radiance. I love these journeys for what they are. I am unafraid because I know that along the way there are others who are along for the ride. Tantamount to Tom Wolfe’s “Electric Koolaid Acid Test”, you can load up your metaphorical bus with a bunch of friends and head on down the highway of life. Who you have on that bus is critical. Who stays? Who gets dropped off? Only you decide. As those in Wolfe’s book traveled aboard “Furthur”, they reached what they considered personal and collective revelations. Granted they were on LSD, but notwishtstanding the use of mind altering drugs, you can see your own journey as revelations to life. I guess its all how you look at it really. I truly enjoyed my life with my wife. I can say right here and right now that it was wonderful. She was my best friend and all a man could ever hope to have. She was the energy that pulsed through my veins and always pushed me onward. She was the fuel for my journey. My kids came along and turned my super unleaded, super charged, vehicle for life into a rocket ship. Do I miss her? Does it hurt? I was asked that question JUST TODAY (again). The only (and instantaneous) answer that I know is – “ONLY WHEN I BREATHE”.


So – she has departed from my “Furthur”. Like a hitch hiker dropped of at their destination. You close the door, kick up the tunes, and carry on as best you can. There are countless roads, many turns, some bumps, and plenty of tunnels to pass through. I try not to look in the rearview mirrors much. I don’t want to see her standing there, fading into the distance. I don’t really want to look way out ahead either. Granted, I have to look ahead to a certain extent, but what matters is what’s inside this little bus. I feel the vibe of my kids bouncing around, and my ever growing circle of friends pushing me on. Is there a destination? I would think that there are many along the way, but the journey is what matters the most. I can only hope that the two incredible kids in my life can look back one day and have similar memories of their dad. I hope that they too can broaden their understanding of life’s little road blocks. My desire is that they will learn that they shall encounter bumps in the road of life, but they MUST keep going at all cost. Their destination may change here and there, but unless you keep going forward, you only get stuck where you presently are. I dream that they will someday spread their wings and head off on adventures more glorious than what I hope to show them. I hope that they learn what it means to be a true friend. I believe they have seen first hand what that means over the last year. My son recently told me “dad you have the bestest friends in the world. Where did they all come from”? How do you explain to him that these friends are the ones who have CONTINUALLY pushed me on? How do I truly make him understand that to be such a friend is indeed what life is all about?


I have watched my “readership” grow. I have gottne countless comments, emails, Facebook messages, etc about my blog, my journey, my dreams, and my life. How could I ever thank those of you out there who reached out as I aimlessly passed through one of the darkest, longest tunnels I could imagine? How could I ever repay your kindness? I’ll tell you how! I can repay my debt by being the same kind of friend that many of you have been. Whether we have met face to face, or only through the exchange of emails, you know who you are. I hope to return what you have given directly into your hands. I pray that I am on this earth long enough to show the dignity and honor that many have shown me and my children. Like Atlas, you held our world high upon your shoulders when it became too much for us to bear. You WERE NOT the fair weathered friends who only called, came around, or checked in when it was convenient for them, turning away when it became to much to see. There are so many of you that it would be rediculous to point out each and every one of you by name. I’d be afraid to insult those I forgot. There is the best man from my wedding, my mom and dad, the California nurse, the climbing partners, sparring partners, running partners. There are the Patricks Crossing people, the husband and wife with the Golden Retrievers, the husband and wife named after my favorite vegitarian breakfast sausage, my brother and his wife, teachers, firemen, pastors (with a pint), co-workers, occupational therapists, laborers, a Cortez nurse, and the King who finally found a Queen. Wow – you are from all walks of life. From Houston, Corpus, Cali, Oklahoma (Hi Donna), Texas, Jersey, Washington, Oregon, Maine (are you in Maine now Jacki?), etc, etc, etc. I have shared a beer with many, tears with a few, and a rope with those who really understand me, and a punch in the face by a few. You are all out there. All along the road. At some point you were all on my bus, and some of you still are. I guess I could only hope that along my journey, I have the opportunity to return the favor. I hope that I can inspire someone, somewhere, in some small way, to never give up. To hold on to those nearest you and to always have hope. I have no clue where my journey will take me or where I’ll find a bend in the road. I do know, however, that I can always count on all of you to share in the adventure. I am grateful to you one and all. That gratitude cannot be expressed deeply enough. You are the vehicle that has carried me on. You are the light at the end of my tunnel. You are my friends, and you are “our” family.

Soul Focus

This past weekend I was fortunate enough to attend the 15th Annual Ouray Ice Festival. This was probably the 7th or 8th festival which I personally attended, and one that fell at an odd time in my life. I wrestled for weeks with the decision to go or not to go. To not go would mean I would work extra, save money, and maintain my little routine. To go would mean getting back in the saddle so to speak. It would mean 3 days to just climb and be around like minded souls. I could try and forget the past year and a half of my life abruptly interupted by a horrendous injury and then my divorce (an eternal injury). I could be with a group of friends who care about me and many of whom were right there in the firey pit of hell as I made this journey, or I could stay home and just go about my daily routine.

I had not been climbing much over the months prior to this wekeend, making the concious choice to stay grounded after several close calls over the last year. As I waded through the myriad of emotions that came with the loss of my wife, I found that I was suddenly willing to risk more. Less afraid of a loss that came prematurely and suddenly, unwanted and unkind. I have always been extremely cognizent of my climbing and the inherent risks. When I would find myself pushing the limits of my abilities all that I had to do to avoid the ever growing pull of gravity was to think of my wife and the terror of her answering the door to a sherrif or answering the phone to the voice of a friend telling her that I was gone. Of course I’ve always put that same fear first and foremost into thoughts of my children, but I just knew that I did not want to put that burden on my wife, who would in turn have to tell our children that dad was not coming home. So I’d get a gravity/reality check and “slow my roll”. Many would claim that it “held me back”. I beg to differ; it merely held me to a higher level of responsibility. The last year has been significantly different in this aspect. My wife was gone and slowly I was upping my game. I was re-learning to live again, to risk again, and to love again. My emotions were raw and real and I was unafraid after the loss I had just suffered. After all, what could be worse than losing all you cared about? So yes I pushed harder and it eventually caught up to me on one warm summer evening in September. I had decided to go climbing on the day that I had met my wife 16 years prior. While soloing (climbing unroped with no protection) a casual route that I had climbed before and felt entirely comfortable on, I slipped just above the crux move. The crux move, in climbing terminology, refers to the hardest move on a particular route. While this move was considred the crux move of this climb, it was well below the level I was climbing at. I slipped at the crux, lost my footing, and hung unroped from three fingers before quickly making a bumbling, desperate move back down to a small ledge. All of this happned approximately one hundred feet off of the ground.

This was a beautiful summer evening in Durango and the sunset as I sat there consumes my memory of that night to this day. I was shaking and crying. They were not tears of fear. They were tears for all I had lost and for the complete lack of fear that I had just come close to losing the ultimate gift..my life. My kid’s lives would have been altered once again, but this time to a point of no return. At that time I had no idea that in a matter of a few months I would be fighting for my God given right to just be their dad and spend equal amounts of time with them. That didn’t matter at this moment. I watched as cars silently passed by far below. Distant to the point of silence, yet so close. The sun slowly dipped behind the La Plata Mountains. The last bits of light stretching its luminous arms across the valley before me. A gentle alpenglow illuminating the town I came to love and call home. The pastures below were full of livestock completely oblivious to my battle with gravity. I remember watching a cyclist pass by and seeing his small headlamp piercing the dusk like a pinhole in the ensuing darkness. I was alone. More alone, in more ways, than I had ever been in this lifetime. I wasn’t scared, just lonely and cold. The dryness in my throat was tantamount to swallowing an entire bale of cotton. High above the valley, above the Animas River, unable to hear its flowing pulse, I sat and contemplated what had just happened. My head was burried in my knees as I sat upon this ledge and stared at the encroaching darkness. The last bits of pastel light exploding in the sky. My cheeks were soaked and caked in dirt and tears. I felt numb but unafraid. I was tired but I felt so alive. I was free. It was just me and the canvas before me. The wind was my companion and this small rock ledge my island. No one could take anything else away from me for this was my fortress. Suddenly I felt the life that had been taken away from me replaced by a sense of peace and gaiety. I sat for another hour composing my mind and freeing my soul. Letting it all go. Allowing my galloping pulse to slow to a normal rythhm. Then I slowly downclimbed to where I had left my rope, packed my gear, hiked to my truck and sat there and cracked open a beer. To say that it was the best tasting beer of my life would be a gross dishonor to the experience!

The months that followed saw me climbing less and less, focusing more on my other passion- fighting! Everyday was filled with a constant state of motion and emotion. To stop would only allow the deamons of my life to creep back into my mind. I had hired an attorney and that was his job, not mine. I was invited on small climbing trips, day trips, after work trips, and every other type of climbing trip there was. My friends had my back, and I knew that. Friends who I had been less than attentive to in the past were suddenly there in my face. Unwilling and unable to watch me spiral down. Unwilling to let me fall from the edge of my fortress, unwilling to watch me go it alone…solo. Yet I knew that I needed to keep my feet on the ground for awhile. My mind wandered, over the months, to a good friend who had lost his fight with gravity in November of 2006. It was a Saturday and he had JUST finalized a divorce that mimmicked mine in so many ways. He fought long and hard for what most would consider “fair” and equitable results. He was in Mexico climbing with friends, celebrating if you will, when he decided to solo a climb that had wrapped its fingers around his heart and mind. The climb was WELL within his abilities. This time he would not come home. The next day (Sunday) we got the news that they had found his body. His ex-wife no sooner left the funeral service and she was packed and on her way out of the state. Jimmy’s family has almost no contact with his little girl to this day.

I knew that I needed to be here for my kids. I knew that life had just BEGUN for me. The world before me was scary, yet full of excitement. I just needed to stay grounded, stay alive, feel alive. I needed to focus on the fighting, not just with my fists, but fighting the battles that lay before me. Ultimately it all worked out. December 9th 2009 is a day I will never forget. I was given my wings on that fateful day. Up to that point all that I could see was loss, yet on this day I was given the wings to fly to wherever I wanted to be. I felt like Michael the archangel. Ready to do battle, exalted and triumphant. I had been battle tested over the course of the preceding 8 months and I was ready to face all that stood in my way of a life full of happiness. I was now the master of my own destiny and the captain of my own soul. My mind and my heart were slowly turning back to the source which had fuled my soul for so many years- climbing and the ever present dance with gravity. The thoughts and memories of climbing needed to be sorted. I needed to put the good memories in the forefront of my mind. I needed to acknowledge some past memories that involved a past life, yet involved climbing, and let them go, for those memories were no longer good. Climbing was MY life and MY source and no one could take that from me. I would not allow my wings to be clipped by the ruthless intent of insanity.

Slowly my focus shifted. I will always have the dual love for both lives. Climbing and Fighting. I needed the balance of both in my life yet I felt the pull at my heels. The taunting of gravity constantly egging me on, whispering in my ear “come let’s dance”. I couldn’t ignore it, and I dare not avoid its embrace. It is who I am. Dancing this dance far above the ground, sometimes above the clouds. Delicate and timeless, once you taste it’s sweetness you cannot ignore its pull. I knew the Ice Fest was coming but was I ready to truly commit to this partner? Would I have the clarity to dance with the grace and spirit that is required? Mere days before we were to depart I began the bargaining within my mind. “Stay and work, save the money”. “Go and spread your wings”. Day in and day out I struggled. Most decisions that I make are made clearly, logically, and typically quickly, yet I could not decide to take the leap and get back in the saddle that I had so missed.

Ultimately I decided to go, with a little encouragement from those friends who stood by me all this time, Doug, Cody, Neal, Linda, Marcus and Tambri. The overwhelming sense of “you need this” was continually repeated. So off we went. Skipping the mundane details I’ll just say that the journey back (within those three days in Ouray) proved very surreal. The first time I was lowered (or rappelled – I don’t remember which) into that dark chasm carved by the Uncompahgre River, I didn’t get what I expected. I thought I would just be overjoyed and bursting with enthusiasm. Suddenly I was about eighty feet below everyone else. I was cold, alone, and it was very surreal, bathed in shadows. Down this far you get no sun. The noises above are muffled by the flow of the river. Everything echoes. The past year of my life echoed in my mind. Yet I climbed. Move by move, ice crunching under the thud of my cramponed boots. My ice tools pierced the hard ice and allowed my ascent. Shards of ice peppered my face. Slowly, gently I ascended. I truly felt the wings upon my back spread like those of an eagle. Freedom! The one word, the one thought, the one feeling that rode the wave of adrenaline from bottom to top. FREEDOM! No one can take that from us. You can enslave a man. You can beat him, insult him, and tear him down, but as long as he maintains hope, he has freedom. The hope for a better tomorrow continues to fuel my spirit and give me the drive to keep putting one boot in front of the other. The sounds, taste, and smells from this weekend will forever be etched in my heart. The friends who shared these days are friends for eternity. The laughs we shared (even at my expense- sharpie man) continually reverberate in my mind. My focus has returned and my eyes are fixed. The sole focus in my life is to find moments of happiness, back to back, as often as I can. More so – my sole focus is to cherish each day that I have with two kids who are the focus of my soul. Until you have something so precious ripped from your grasp – you cannot fathom the ensuing hell, yet with hope and a good set of wings, you can beat the odds and come back to a world full of light. I will surely face many more difficulties in this life, and some I shall lose, but I will never give up my freedom, never give up my wings.

A Brotherhood Baptized in Blood

There are nights as I drive from work, during a raging snowstorm, when all around me is black and white. The sky black, yet white and tranquil. As I warm my truck in the office parking lot I repeat my mantra "don't quit..don't quit..never give up..always get up". I see my breath, warm and moist as it exits my body having filled my lungs with life. The days are usually long and I am typically drained. Always having to give one hundred percent to stay focused in an intense position at work. The demons and agonizing thoughts always grabbing at my heals, promising to drive me insane if I just give them an ounce of my time. But I won't quit. Never will I tap to the demons that chase me.


So I sit as my truck warms and tell myself that I cannot go home to an empty house and just sit. There are times where that is just a relaxing end to my day and I actually look forward to it. Those times almost always fall on the weeks where my kids are with me, otherwise I try to stay busy, stay fit, stay focused, and continue the fight. I've looked in the mirror over the last 8 months and I have seen a transformation as glorious as any I could ever imagine. I have watched my body change into one that I am proud of. I have felt my heart pound out of my chest in utter sadness, and yet still it beats stronger each day. I have struggled to breathe at times, choked out by a nightmare unseen as it approached. So I sit on a cold snowy night, warming my truck, looking in the rearview at the clarity in my eyes. As I shift into drive, I sense the drive in my soul, knowing that my next stop is my home away from home. This home is one where I feel nothing but joy as I cross the threshold. Inside those doors are my brothers and sisters. My family. The ones I "roll with". The ones who "know". Warriors one and all. Their battles are their own, as mine is left to my graces, yet once through those doors, we are an army bathed in sweat, and often blood.


I know as I drive through the white darkness that my day has been long, my mind and body are tired, yet my foot is heavy on the pedal. I crave the sounds of leather hitting leather, of a beautiful take down and the ensuing smack of flesh hitting the mat. The smell of a gym is something few can appreciate. It permeates all within. The sweat that pours from our bodies is an intoxicating tonic, the adrenaline pumps through your veins like a junkies fix. I crave this, it is who I am, it is what drives me to keep on keepin' on. It is my fix. So I drive, heavy footed and anxious for the "beauty of the process", as a friend so eloquently put it. It isn't the smashing of bones, the popping of joints, or the spilling of blood. It's the process inbetween. It's the two guys in the locker room who just watched you get your ass kicked, yet they tell you that you did good. The same guys who hear your story and intently listen...you can see it in their faces..they "know". They know what I come for and I am sure they leave their own demons at the door. They become "family", as one put it. Suddenly the loss you suffered becomes an acquisition of an unforseen frienship. The brotherhood grows, and only those within know.


As I approach the gym I feel the tranquility of the dark, cold, snowy night. Few walk the streets. Most sane people head straight home and cook a hot meal, build a fire, and relax. The fire inside me keeps me warm, and the comraderie inside the gym feeds my soul. I travel down College Ave and as I pass the gym I see the frosted/etched windows. What isn't etched is fogged over from the heat within as it battles the cold outside, bitter enemies, only to meet and become one. It is a scene I see often when I close my eyes. This place has become home. That is where I belong. The family within those walls may dish out pain upon me, but it is a pain that heals, a pain that brings you back to where you need to be. A pain full of kindness and understanding. It is the only place that I know of where you can inflict, and have inflicted, this kind of pain and punishment and yet when you are done you wrap your arms around your oponent and sincerely appreciate the warrior they are and the battles you share. Only in this place can you look that person in the eye and know that NO MATTER WHAT they will be there to share the pain whether it is intangible, or deep seated in your soul.


As I park and grab my gear bag I suddenly realize that my worries from the day have all but vanished. Gone in the night. Taken away by the thoughts of what is to be before me. Snatched away on a cool, crisp, blustery night. As I walk the half block to the gym doors, snow and ice crunching under my feet, I feel my hair tingle. I open the front doors and life comes rushing out at me. The sights, smells, sounds, and smiles. That is why I come back day after day. The bonds we make on the mat cannot be broken by lifes simple, insignifcant, trivial, and mundane trials. The honor within those walls is something that most people only dream about. The friendships and support are often glorified, and fantasized about in movies, script, or fairytales...but here we find it. Here we live it. Strong, intent, and solid.


After changing and stepping onto the mat, I wrap my hands and begin my warm up. the music thumping and my heart pumping. The sound of heavy exhaustive breathing fills the room. The ropes slapping the mat, tapping to a rhythm that only a fighter could love. The timer sounds the rounds, we hit the floor and sprawl to the ground. The sharp, crisp sound of a sudden strong exhale as someone hits the pads, "hhhhsssssssssttttt", then the crack of leather to leather. Then on those nights when we trade punches with one another - that is where you find the peace within it all. The process suddenly comes to fruition. You move side to side, head moving, feet dancing, jab, cross, hook, leg kick. Nothing else is there. No divorce, no financial worries, no job stress, no bills to pay. Just you and a "mutual" combatant. Both there willingly and both holding their own destiny in their hands. Each move calculated, countered and recalculated. Methodical in your pursuit, you stalk one another looking for the opportunity to strike.


I know I cannot change the past. My mistakes are mine. I live with the fear, pain, and anger on a daily basis. Most nights are spent without complete sleep. The tears still come from a well that I thought had run dry. I often have to pull over and just catch my breath. I hate being alone. I miss the sounds of a house full of love and a "FAMILY" complete and whole. The monster(s) that took these things (or took part) are out there. They laugh in the shadows and continue their plight. But I have peace. I have a family again. They are not what I once had...but they will do. Retribution is not mine to give - God shall tend to that. In the mean time, I'll walk through those doors every chance I get and wage war upon those willing to grant me with the privelage. The blood I spill is freely given, the pain gladly taken. The body I build is for fighting. The spirit inside will never tap to the demons that surround me. My spirit may have been knocked to the mat..yet I will always get back up and continue the fight.

Angel of Serenity

"Get beyond love and grief: exist for the good of Man."


This quote was taken from The Book of Five Rings. Written by Miyamoto Musashi, a great Samurai warrior, circa 1645. The book is considered a classic text on the art of war and strategy. It is a book that I could read over and over again and always find something new to glean from its pages. Many corporate leadership retreats are using the book and its message during seminars these days. It is the above referenced quote that came to my mind today. The past seven months have been trying, often a struggle, and yet more often, an inner battle. To spend half (well almost) of your life with someone you considered a soul mate, and then to be left with less than nothing, is a trying experience. One I do not wish upon my worst enemy. There is no book, strategy, or easy way to navigate through the tangle of emotions and the litany of confusion. Looking over my shoulder now I see the person that passed through this battle and has emerged a better man. Scarred? For sure. Changed? Immeasurably. Beaten? NEVER. I have been given a gift through this travesty, of love and hate. That gift is rediscovery. Enlightenment if you will. While the journey will never end, I can now look over my shoulder and see from a higher vantage point. I can see beyond the sea of despondency, beyond the black and littered battlefield, to a glorious sunset. A sky painted orange, pink, red, and yellow. All the colors of the heavens are before me. The clouds painted with the gentle soothing colors of the Gods. The heat and rage I have felt are replaced with a soothing breeze upon my face. A purpose I have found, a way I am finding.

My purpose is clear; my way is unfolding before me. I may never love again the way I loved her, but I “have” loved that way and I am grateful for it. I may be “alone” for a long time, if not the rest of my life, yet I have never been so surrounded by love, compassion, and companionship. I have realized that by definition being alone is not such a bad thing. It is only during this time that we can look deep within while looking at the vast world around us, and find again what it is we are made of. We can truly appreciate all that life has to offer us. All of the simple things that we have simply walked by in years past suddenly take on a whole new life. The feeling of a cool mountain breeze on your face is no longer simply a sensation. When that wind picks up now, you find yourself facing it, craving it, and breathing it in deeply. The sound of the wind in the trees is no longer just a simple intriguing sound; it is now the harmony of God raking his fingers across the forest. I look at people in a whole new light. I don’t see a person before me; I see a life and soul before me. So much deeper than I have ever imagined. My life was completely taken from me and I now realize that the human spirit is profoundly evident in all of us. A man can be broken, but as long as his spirit is intact he can recover and in fact can return a better human being. I no longer pursue possessions or relationships for selfish delights. When I meet someone and I choose to know them, I want to see beyond love, hate, discontentment, scorn and reason. I want to see what it is that makes them happy. I want to know if someone is happy, not if they are successful, in a relationship, have similar values, beliefs or reasoning. I value the diversity in people so much more now. I care not where you came from, I care where you are going and even more so whether or not you appreciate the journey and the opportunity you have been given. It would be easy to label me in a stoic perspective but if you know me then I think you know that I waste not when it comes to words and my time. I have seen time flash before my eyes and I intend to not waste any more of it tangled in the confusion of normalcy. We all seem to “want” to be happy, but do we really know what we want that makes us happy? I hope I can rediscover that which gives me peace. I believe I am learning every day.

I can tell you that the laughter of my children is something that I find utterly deafening to my soul. Nothing warms my spirit more than to watch them interact and see the innocence within their actions. All the aforementioned qualities are abundantly clear in their eyes. The frivolous pursuit of material satisfactions has not yet grasped their minds. They are free and at peace. When my time with them was taken from me, I had no idea the impact it would have on me, much less them. Having them back in my life is tantamount to an awakening only spoken of in books. I have a whole new appreciation for making dinner, watching kid movies, wrestling, and even doing homework. I would fight to the bitter end to assure I could enjoy these seemingly mundane moments. I would not trade an eternities worth of wealth for the gift of these moments. Through these lessons and battles I have gained another true gift. As I mentioned before I have come to a place in life where I want more than the basics of knowing someone. I want to know beyond all that appears on the outside. I have gained so many new friends in my life and I am grateful for each and every one of them. I have found old friends again who have stood by me like they have in years past. I have also gained some truly astounding opportunities to get to know someone in a very real and vibrant way. Like I stated before, I want to “see beyond” the standard characteristics that people envision in themselves, and I have been shocked by what I have found.

I have found a deeper connection than I have ever imagined. Love? Lust? Like? Nope – PEACE, and appreciation. Serenity so heavenly and delicate, yet so solid and real. Don’t go wondering “who” this is or what this is…it just is. I am surrounded by so many good people and I couldn’t even begin to describe the breadth of my appreciation in having those close to me in my life. But the connection I speak of has found uniqueness in one who has truly touched my soul. Will this person be here tomorrow? I have NO CLUE, nor do I think of that. As I have said, I don’t know if I will love again, or be alone in this life, but what I do know is that the serenity before me takes my breath away. Have you ever had someone touch your face in the middle of the night while you are sound asleep, and not one cell in your body was startled? That touch simply brings you to a conscious state and there before you is this angel of serenity? Have you ever felt the air in your lungs so pure and refreshing? Have you ever been able to lay in COMPLETE peace next to someone and say nothing at all? Do nothing at all? Just lay there and listen to the air pass between you, through their lungs. Listen to your hearts beat as they drum to their own rhythms? When that touch that awakens you GIVES you breath, as opposed to startling you and taking your breath, is that something to ignore? Is it? I choose not to ignore such “little things” anymore. I want to explore what it is between two souls that can give you a place of comfort and peace unlike one you even thought possible. If that moment lasts a lifetime, I’d be grateful, and if it lasted only until tomorrow, I’d be just as grateful. As I look over my shoulder into the setting sun, or forward into the rising sun, the sky is only more vibrant and the journey only more gratifying when you feel a soul walking alongside your own. The raging battles around you are still there, yet your arsenal will see you through. The compassion in the world around you will shield you like armor. The soul beside you will guide you and laugh with you….you have no expectations..you have only the breath in your lungs and the moment at hand. The journey is sure to be glorious and vibrant..real and tangible. The battles in this life can truly be battles of attrition, yet I have strength in the hearts around me. The word “warrior” has a whole new meaning to me. I have seen pure love turn to pure evil. We all see that, yet I have seen the soul of humanity and the kindness of a kindred spirit. I am surrounded by so much good…I shall never walk alone and for all of you I am eternally grateful. For the angel’s out there – hang on and enjoy what today brings.



“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.”

One by One

To all my friends and family who have stood by me through this nightmare, I thank you with all that I am. Sometimes in life we have to perservere and keep putting one foot in front of the other when all senses are saying give up. One by one it is the people that have appeared in my life over the last 7 months who have helped keep me on track and truly shown me life again. Some are new, many old, many I have never met, and so many from the past, but all of your emails, calls, comments, well wishes and prayers have been felt. You inspire me and keep me strong. My only hope is that I can pay it forward someday, if not directly to you. My gratitude will last all of my days. Today is the day I step into a courtroom to fight..not a fight in a ring, not a fight on a climb...but a fight for the rest of my life. No one wins in this fight..we all lose and lives are forever changed. Keep my family in your prayers and know we are going to keep walking forward..through it all.
Jim


One by one, the tears they fall.
One by one, I tear down these walls
One by one, the memories they fade.
Sequential they fall, a lifetime on parade.
One by one, life sprouts anew.
One by one I see things through.
One by one the battles they rage.
One by one my dreams are freed from this cage.
One by one time marches on.
One by one another day is gone.
One by one the angels appear.
The friends come to lend their ear.
One by one you have lifted me.
One by one you have given me the energy.
One by one you have stood by me in the face of these enemies.
One by one you have marched by my side.
You my friends; have kept this heart alive.
One by one we have worked through the moves.
Choreographed and orchestrated, dancing to a different groove.
One by one before the judge we will appear.
One by one our futures are so unclear.
One by one we will part.
Two by two… a divided heart.

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.