Kryptonite Revisited

I was cleaning up and rereading the Kryptonite post and realized I had missed a couple important parts of that story. These parts are what shook me to the point where I couldn't hid the fact I wasn't well. It forced me to pick up the phone and ask for help, eventually.

I encourage you to go back and read the Kryptonite blog post. This one won't make much sense without the context from the first post.

Part one...

Friday night in October of 2023, we sat down as a family to eat pizza and watch a movie. Soul Surfer was the pick for the night. It's a movie we'd seen multiple times together and found moving and encouraging. I was sitting in my usual spot, the big brown chair front and center of the T.V. I always got emotional during the scene just after the shark attack. The way everyone rallied around Bethany; the way the dad took charge, the way his son didn't hesitate to step up and help, the impromptu thinking to get into the truck, the immense effort it took to save Bethany's life. The reality of at scene strikes a chord deep in me every time, all of it, even Bethany's best friend puking, why? Because it happens every day across the world. People step up and step into very horrible places to help others, many times, strangers. And in doing so, will never be the same again.

This time watching that scene was not much different than from the past. As I think back, I do remember the intensity having a slightly different feel to it. I don't know how to explain the feeling beyond that, it was just different. When they transfer Bethany to the ambulance and the medics call into the hospital...my heart started beating harder, not faster, just more intensely. When they showed Bethany's mom and brother getting passed by the ambulance...the tiers started to well (as they are right now). But when they took Bethany into the operating room and closed the door on her family...I... I'm not sure I can describe what happened in my body. I didn't cry, I...couldn't sit, so I went to the back of the kitchen and stood watching...wanting someone to see me. They didn't. I wanted...someone to ask me what was wrong. They didn't. I wanted to breath...I felt like I couldn't. I couldn't do anything, think anything, say anything. The only thing I could do was get away. Away from what I was seeing and reliving. I went back to the curtain being shut and watching a dad lose hope, lose any sense of control whether his son lived or died. Lose hope for myself to be able to offer any support or help to him or anyone. To feel failure at it's most intense. I couldn't truthfully even answer a dam question honesty. I failed and a couldn't fix any of it! It all came back so intensely, so unexpectedly, so...unexplainably.

[Note: When my family reads this...I don't blame anyone for not seeing me, understanding me, or how I was feeling at any point since the call. No one knew. It wasn't until we were able to look back that any of us could really see and grasp that something was wrong. SO DON'T FEEL GUILTY. Let's all chalk this up as a learning experience and knowledge we can share. KEEP MOVING FORWARD baby!]

I left the house that night, not saying anything to anyone. I left not know where I was going, not knowing what I needed, not knowing what I was feeling, just knowing I was back in that hospital, not knowing what to say to a dad that didn't know what to do. Not knowing why God didn't answer my fucking request for help - help so I could offer this dad some comfort. All I wanted to do was comfort this man, to give him a simple word of encouragement and all I could do was give him a lie.

[I realize now that I wanted to comfort him, so I could be comforted. I wanted to help him, because it would help me lose the awkwardness and uselessness I was feeling. We were two men who had no control over what felt like an impossible situation.]

Not knowing where to go, I drove to the fire station and sat in dispatch. I sat there listing to calls and knowing that I needed to write out what I was feeling. I wanted, needed to put words to my feelings. I really wanted others to know and care that I was hurting....they didn't, I wanted them to ask what was wrong so I could scream, I DON"T KNOW, but they didn't. So I wrote the post below on Instagram to get something out.

I came home late and honestly can't remember if I spoke to anyone. I think my bride texted me when I was at the fire station asking me where I had gone, but I don't remember. I did talk with her the next morning about what happened and explained as best I could what I was feeling. She was at a loss as well and tried her best to comfort me and encouraged me to make the call. I said I would, but I didn't. "The call" I was to make was to MNFire which is the State of Minnesota's Fire Fighter hotline. The problem is, it is extremely hard to ask someone for help when you don't know what the hell is wrong. I know I'm not right in my mind or body, but why, how...I have no fricking clue, I know I'm just "not right".

Part 2

As I said earlier, it took me 6 more months before I could muster up the guts to call. I hung up on the initial dial, but called back and worked through the prompts.

[On a side note, having an automated voice pick up the line for those who are in need of emotional/mental health sucks and is a terrible idea. The poorly trained person attempting to show empathy toward me as I was asked a bunch of very inconsequential questions (to a person who's barely got enough strength to make the call) didn't help my intake process at all. I just got more angry and couldn't wait to get off the line.]

Ok, back to the story...

Frankie Jo....I love you sister and I know a WHOLE bunch of others like me do to. Frankie Jo used to do all the intake for MNfire before it was given to a big company who had more resources and more people (their intentions are good...). I had the privilege of working with Frankie Jo on a project with the state, little did I know I'd need her help myself. She caught me at a training conference up in Duluth I was attending back in March of 24 and asked how I was doing with that call I had (we had talked at different conference the year before Duluth). I said pretty good, I finally knew what really bothered my about the call. She said something like good, but just because we know where the splinter is, doesn't mean it's out and the wound is healed. Actually, that is exactly what she said. I will never forget those words, and I thank God she said them. I had no intention to call at that point. But with those words of wisdom and a promise from her to follow up with me in a week, my plan changed. She also explained the intake process and what to expect when I did call. I don't think I would have gotten past the crap intake and got connected with my councilor without her. If you ever ready this Frankie Jo. THANK YOU!

Was it worth the struggle to get to talk to a pro? Yes, absolutely. Did it help? Yes. Should you call? YES. Will you back to 100%? Maybe, I'm not, but I don't know I'll ever be back to the same person I was; stuff like this changes a person. I used to be more care free, naive maybe, but certainly less burdened than now. Maybe more counseling would help, but as it stands right now, I'm probably 85-90% back (after 6 sessions and 3 1/2 years removed from the call). I'll update if this changes.

Part 3

I decided to write this not only because I reread Kryptonite and felt I should fill in some of the blanks, but also because it's been a hard week. I realized I was feeling sorry for myself...wanting to be seen and heard, and not wanting to deal with the problems I need to face. I'm tired to...for like a month now, so that doesn't help. But, gratefully, I am much better than I was. I'm seeing my struggle and able to put words to my feelings (SO HELPFUL) and I have tools to get outta my head. What tools you ask? Working out, talking about what's up with my wife instead of taking it out on her, facing the challenges like standing up for myself, calling a spade a spade when there is a spade in my life, and writing this blog.

If any of this can help someone else, praise GOD! It'll be just one of many ways God will have shone he doesn't waste pain. That has been the best part of all of this; getting to know how much he loves us (me) and that even though he doesn't always answer our prayers like we'd like or when we like, he is working. Honestly, I'm convinced he is waiting on us. WE are the ones who don't hear or see what he is saying to us, or doing for us, because we have a preconceived idea of how we think he should respond. You might find ironic, I find this very honoring to us in two ways. First, he patiently waits for us to hear him (he doesn't scream at us) and second he doesn't require us to grasp his good and correct answer immediately. He allows us to grow, not forces us to grow.

Regarding my Instagram post. Was Jesus there? Did I feel, hear, or see his presence? No. ...the Holy Spirit's presence? No. Father God's presence? No. But do I know they were there? Yes. I've shared with my kids that even when you feel like mom and I don't love you, we do. We want you to KNOW that we love you, no matter how you feel. Our feelings can get outta wack but our minds can know the truth of the matter, even when our feelings don't. Same goes for God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, they are always actively working in our lives, to get our attention, mold us, hold us, and love us into their world. God created us to be part of his heavenly family, but it got messed up and Jesus came to clarify the truth of the matter...God wants us with him, but by our choice. So, was Jesus with us in the back of that rig, at the hospital, in the hallway, and every day after? Yes...always yes.

Do I have an answer from God what happened during this call? Any clarification? I'm still talking with him about the specifics, but the truth is, my silence, my lack of words, may not have been about me at all. It may have been for a dad not needing my words, just silence so he could here God's words. In fact...I'm pretty sure I just got my answer.