Father's Day (Hindsight 20/20)

This year’s Father’s Day was one I’ll never forget. It started off like any typical Sunday, this year was away from home, but it took a different turn that nobody saw coming. I slept in a little, had a leisurely bowl (or 3) of cereal, a couple cups of coffee, and then I watched my niece and nephews, along with my own two kids, play together in an above ground swimming pool, at a stranger’s house, in Dorr, MI. I had never heard of Dorr until the night before when we pulled up to the Airbnb along a country road. There was a lot that lead up to why I was sitting in a stranger’s kitchen, eating a comforting bowl of cereal.

Covid has hit all of us, in different ways, and 2020 has reframed priorities for many. After 3 months of only knowing our, respective, 4-walls and being as psychologically disciplined based on fear, paranoia, health risks, and doing our part to flatten the curve, we slowly started dipping our feet out of the 24/7 quarantine world. After a few outdoor play dates and backyard visits with neighbors, over the past couple weeks, I eventually succumbed to my wife’s asks, knowing how important it was for our kids to see their cousins and grandparents and for Sally to see both her parents and sisters. It had been 5-6 months without seeing one another, which is a lifetime for them, so it took a bit of discussions, ground rules and meeting in the middle, but I eventually agreed to renting an Airbnb and leaving home base during these dystopian times.

Instead of coming out to the house on Father’s Day morning, as planned, we left Chicago, Saturday afternoon, in order to get a full extra day with the extended family. I knew it would mean the world to our kids to surprise them a day early. We met the 3 other Skutch (wife’s maiden name) groups in a small rural town, outside of Grand Rapids, so the 14 of us could hang out and relax with one another for several days. We came from Toledo, a town between Detroit and Ann Arbor, the northern burbs of Chicago, and the city of broad shoulders, itself.

After spending a while watching the kids splash away in the morning and re-applying their second coating of sunscreen, I decided to tap out and go for a run. I’m very light-hearted and semi easy-going (depends on whom you ask), but the one thing I don’t mess around with is safety. We live in the city, on a quiet street, but we are surrounded by several major high-trafficked areas in Chicago. My kids aren’t allowed to cross the street without an adult, they can’t ride their bikes around 9 houses and an alley without my wife or me, and they can’t go outside without sunscreen. I make them practice our cellphone numbers, by song, and quiz them on their address. When asked what daddy’s number one rule is- my kids harmoniously chime in together “safety” (overt eye-roll is accepted...ohhh, by the way, I also drive a Volvo if that tells you something).

I’m a fun dad, I really am, I swear. We watched Spaceballs when both kids were in pull-ups, have EDM parties in our kitchen on school nights, listen to the Beastie Boys and wrestle multiple x a week, but my kids know that floaties better be on near a pool, they can’t go on bikes or scooters until helmets are tight, and seat belts are strapped or the car doesn’t start.

I am off the next two weeks, for work, and, like most people, have felt the stress and pressure of the first half of 2020. Since I had nowhere to be and time was my best friend (it felt nice to be reacquainted), I brought my running shoes and geared-up for a long Dad’s Day run to take my parental hat off for an hour or so. It felt great to be outside, midday, knowing that I didn’t have to get back for a work call, to cook dinner, or to take a puppy out. I laced-up the shoes, only wearing running shorts, with phone in hand, and music ready to go. I was running past farms, what seemed like multiple Dollar Generals, plenty of signs that said “pipe cleaners” (insert juvenile snicker), and may have seen up to 4 sedans between the dozens upon dozens of pick-up trucks along the rural terrain. As I ran, I was putting myself in the local drivers’ shoes, trying to figure out why they had never seen me at the local fish fry; this was not my comfort zone but it felt relaxed and I was embracing both the sun and the run. I was 2 miles in, took the photo (below) to post on social media (although, not originally meant in this context), to highlight the irony these places of commerce brought to me (a hardware store, a local brewery, a fireworks tent, another pickup truck, a pizza place, and another dollar store...pure Americana). Again, I was out of my element, and I wanted to highlight the 180 from my typical, urban, everyday life.

This run was different from most others. I was on an open road, there were few to no sidewalks, I could hear nature, and I didn’t feel like I was winded from big city smog. Also, because I was in farm country, it was refreshing to not have to weave in and out of parked cars to keep my physical distance, from other pedestrians wearing masks, trying to go on about our respective urban journeys. The run felt great, and I kept it going an extra mile and turned back at almost the 3 mile mark to make it a close to 6'er. I dropped a pin, sharing the location with Sally, in the event that my ridiculously silly handlebar mustache (aka quarantine stache) and shirtless body was run off the road by a Trump 2020 bumper sticker, with those metal balls hanging off the back fender to reflect a certain metaphor...or lack thereof. Again, I was out of my element.

At 1:49, in-between a Spotify “Hype” playlist, I received a frantic call from my sister-in-law, from my dear friend and brother-in-law’s phone, exclaiming that Walter (my 4.5 y/o son) had just drowned in the pool. They were in the process of administering CPR, which got Walter breathing (not gonna leave that out a this point - not the purpose of this ultra-private posting on LinkedIn).

There is no greater fear than being out of control and losing your child. None.

They had called 9-1-1, but staying in this remote area was not exactly the most conducive spot to be calling the paramedics and expecting a quick arrival. I was 3 miles, in the middle of BFE nowhere, feeling the most vile kind of helplessness, fear, anger, and every other kind of emotion imaginable. My 4.5 year old, whom was born hours before my 35th bday, just drowned. The same kid I spent 3-weeks (which seemed like a yr) in the hospital (in 2016) with when he had an emergency surgery due to intussusception complications; the same kid that I have held a nebulizer to his face dozens upon dozens of nights, and have slept by his side during asthma attacks at Lurie Children’s Hospital; the same boy that we did everything possible to keep from getting sick (along with my wife, whom deals with other ailments) when Covid was spiking high in our city; the same kid that Sally took to Lurie, just days ago, because he was showing pre-diabetic signs that needed to be evaluated at 10pm last Sunday night. Was this picture of Walter, Hannah, and their “Este” (read: “creative nickname for grandfather") the last photo I’d have to remember his adorable shit-eating grin, “he can do no wrong” smile, beautiful blue eyes, and his silly and sarcastic demeanor?

As I was sprinting back, I heard and saw one of the emergency cars but it looked like a volunteer or someone whom was off duty heading to the scene. I knew where he was going. I was a solid 30 mins away, deflated, and I wouldn’t be there in time to help him. I didn’t know whether to go faster, throw up, scream, cry, or jump into the middle of this rural terrain to have an oncoming Ford F-150 swerve at a shirtless, hairy, chubby guy (w/ some athleticism/definition...I can’t be that hard on myself during this scenario) vehemently trying getting his attention.

Had we left on on Sunday vs Saturday, this may have never happened. Had I not gone for a run, this may have never happened. If I listened to my gut and continued to shelter in place, followed directions (from 3 mos ago) to bleach down boxes of food and restaurant to-go containers, never leaving my 4 walls, this may have never happened. Hindsight is always 20/20. It didn’t matter...period. Nothing mattered besides for Walter being alive and Hannah, my daughter, not being scarred for life (along with 11 others that were there).

Again, all of this is during Covid-19, on Father’s Day, in a rural town, close to a city that’s not my own. I felt helpless, like Walter, confused as to how his floaties remained off of him in the pool (be it for 10 seconds or a few minutes) because he asked for them to be removed for his umpteenth snack. I could not get the "how/why" feeling out of my veins, but also I rationalized that assuming he could breathe on his own (post CPR, post mouth to mouth resuscitation, and additional oxygen at the hospital) none of this mattered. It was purely an accident...and that's why they are called accidents; nobody means for them to happen. All I cared about was how fragile this little boy is, how life can just be taken away at the snap of two fingers, and that depending on how much water got into his lungs and how the lack of oxygen crashed his little body, he could have been in a vegetative state, for the remainder of his time, or dead (and we had faced life or death with him 4 years ago as well but many people don’t or didn’t know this). I guess resiliency is a theme, here, for Walter.

My father-in-law and sister-in-law jumped in a car and found me, after I sent them my location, and I tried to calmly wait in the parking lot at one of the (seemingly many) dollar stores I passed earlier. Sally went in the ambulance, and the 30-40 minute drive (what seemed like anywhere between 3 minutes to 3 hrs) to the DeVos (yes, the MIL of “our beloved” Betsy) Children’s Hospital consisted of a grossly sweaty version of myself, squeezed between 2 car seats, shirtless, smelling of Target sunscreen (50 SPF, told ya - safety matters)...yet, I was as calm and quiet as humanly possible because there was nothing I could do. I didn’t have a shirt to enter the hospital, so my father-in-law tossed me his; thanks, Steve.

I found out shortly after being picked-up that Walter was unconscious, blue, had no breath (at first!) and was hypothermic. Part of the natural fluids in his lungs were washed out and taken over by chlorine, too much water, and other chemicals. His x-rays showed his lungs as too hazy, so they rushed us up to the ICU. When he arrived at the hospital, his temperature got up to 93F/34C.

As I sit in the chair, next to Walter, nearly 12 hour later, post Father’s Day, I don’t think I’ll be able to ever look at this day or him in the same way. Being a father is the greatest privilege, yet scariest and most delicate job in the world for a man. The other job filled with opportunities for accolades, the attaboys, and career momentum is simply a game of balancing self worth with economic comfort and stability (somewhat similar to Scott Galloway’s “Algebra of Happiness”). Without a family, or something to really push for, to me, it’s all genuinely a game of “collecting shit”- just a bunch of plastic, fiberglass, wood, silk, you name it. Commodities with little to no intrinsic value that will one day be left behind. A bunch of branding and marketing that makes us want to accumulate things to showcase wealth and flaunt success (or lack thereof). We work for our future, literally, not just figuratively. We work for our kids to have good, fun, enriching and meaningful lives.

As I sit here, because the world is stricken right now with pain, disease, strife, and just exhaustion, I can’t help to think how vulnerable and fragile life really is. This has hit me time and time again, personally, with family members and friends’ medical ailments and being an avid news watcher having a heart filled with empathy. As I sit next to my almost kindergartner, while his sister and mom are in a basement bedroom of an Airbnb, wanting to be here, but can’t because of an airborne virus, it makes my head spin about what’s right vs what’s wrong. What’s a new social norm vs a social faux pas. Do we shelter our kids from relatives, when they go 6 months without seeing their grandparents, or do we safely stay in a house and have 8 grown ups, that are all family, outside with 6 kids?

Both of these questions and answers are rhetorical. They don’t matter. What matters is that not everything can be controlled. Every decision, every movement, it all matters... yet they all have different consequences that nobody can predict. We just do our best to exist and provide as much security, comfort, and love for our children as we can.

As I paused, for 30 mins or so to continue writing this at 2am, on Monday, the resident on staff told me how he grew-up near my home, living blocks away from where some friends and old colleagues live, and he was playing with his 5 y/o nephew last weekend, in a pool, shaking his head saying how similar Walter resembled his own kin. While in a children's hospital for far more times than I'd like (which, many other families reading this have done, and hopefully millions will never have to), walking past other relatives of children (1-2 per room b/c of Covid-19) whom have suffered from long-term serious conditions and thinking through how this hospital covers one of the biggest stretches of land (the western half of Michigan), surrounded by the largest natural lakes in North America, the amount of young kids that come in to this hospital, that have been submerged under water, swallowing it and choking, for 40 seconds or 4 mins, silently, losing time as every second goes by is beyond frightening and jarring. I was lucky. My son was lucky. Every parent has heard the scary harsh reality that: DROWNING IS RESPONSIBLE FOR MORE DEATHS AMONG CHILDREN 1-4 THAN ANY OTHER CAUSE (EXCEPT BIRTH DEFECTS)...it makes this piece that more jarring. I’m writing to you that if it happened to my family, it can happen to yours. Please share this information and our story with friends, colleagues, and strangers with young kids. This can happen to anyone, no matter how safe you pride yourself to be.

My son, AGAIN, has a second chance. The reason I’m sharing so much detail is to both make this personal, so you can envision and get to know how me and how I was feeling...and to scare you. Yep, I want to shock you, and make you pause, get the chills, and now urge you to squeeze your family tighter tonight; my family is beyond lucky. Okaaaaaaay, that was a lot to take in (for you); most posts are about courage, leadership, or how to have a tip-top resume. I'm using LinkedIn to spread a message. Please make sure you know how to administer CPR. This, too, can happen to you or your loved ones. I’ve given the Heimlich, unfortunately more than once, and was so relieved I remembered how to act and choose fight vs flight. However, getting behind someone to push a piece of steak out of their throat is a bit easier than bringing a child (or adult) back to life.

Those 20 seconds you have left the bath running, to get your phone, to take a video for Instagram or FaceTime with your out-of-town family, to watch the kid in the bath, this could have been your child falling headfirst to blow bubbles and then drowning when it all happened in the blink of an eye. If you’re doing a play date, during the 4th of July weekend and have a pool or are going to a lake, please remember to put the floaties/life jacket/wings back on your kid the second after you reapply that SPF-90. If you’re like my family, and bought a blow-up pool, for your backyard (because of Covid-19), knowing that summer and camp might not be synonymous (this year) and public pools will be closed, I beg you to think every second through...

Many of you will be still WFH and have kids that are out of school this summer. Please think through each and every action to curb this happening to you. Please don’t step away to get your kid a towel while he or she is still in the water. Don’t look down on your phone to read that text or email from your boss or client. Don’t turn around to pick up that drink or jump out of the pool to grab the ball that went over your head...don’t turn your back. Do not.

Please think through every little step when around water. I urge you to be “man for man” with your kids when you’re swimming. Please don’t take these stats lightly. You don’t want your child and your future to be dignified by a horrendous statistic.

Life is fragile. My family is really damn lucky. We have another chance. And we get to see this smile...and giant appetite for food...and life. Others don’t have this opportunity, please be safe around water and share this story as nobody is immune. Like Covid-19, water doesn’t discriminate.