Screams amongst stars

Guest post by: Dan Kiessling

Children do not come with an instruction manual.  There may be numerous volumes of parenting books, articles, and training classes available but most only are effective until the first ear infection or bout of colic.  Since the loss of Chelsea, I have gone through what I suspect is a sixth stage of grief, one reserved only for those that have lost a child.  A stage that includes not only the grief of the loss of your child but also of a loss of your own identity creates a very self- reflective condition.  It is not just knowing that you will not be introduced as “Chelsea’s Dad” anymore.  It makes you question whether you fulfilled that role to the best of your abilities at all times.  Was I there for her, am I there now for my other children, was I a good provider, protector, role model, a steward of their development?  Those questions will be with me until I join Chelsea, perhaps she can help answer them for me. 

My parenting capabilities were brought to question concerning Chelsea not too long ago and I have reflected upon that particular incident a great deal recently.  It actually started almost twenty years ago shortly after Chelsea was born.  She learned to scream, and learned it well.  She experienced colic as a baby and was rewarded for her screams by having me walk her around most of the night.  I was recovering from some leg problems and needed the physical therapy anyway.   She enjoyed the limp and gimp and would eventually wear herself out screaming and fall asleep with me on the couch.

As she became slightly older she would religiously practice her screaming talents every Sunday morning, usually during the sermon at our Church.  Again, I would take her for longer walks and explore the outer reaches of the building or grounds.  Often we would return with her having recovered and she would dance in the aisles during the rest of the service.  I do not believe this was her criticism of the sermon, more likely the result of having an audience to develop her screaming talent.  While we would get several frowns and stares, most of the congregation became used to our quick exits with a smile and  later a hug and kiss to Chelsea after the service.  She appreciated being the only baby in the congregation at that time.

Then, of course, there was the trip to Disney World and the Haunted Mansion.  She was about three years old then and was still allowing me to carry her around the park.  She evidently felt the ghouls approaching early and started screaming and hanging on with all of her strength from the time we entered fake elevator in the Mansion until we were well out and into Tom Sawyer’s domain.   Over ten minutes of non-stop screaming directly in my left ear. 

The screaming did not diminish with age; in fact she enhanced it and used it as was necessary in her defense.  Older siblings and on occasion, even I, would tease her to the point that would elicit a piercing scream.  Depending on her mood at the time, that point was reached early or later in the process but always put an end to the teasing.  More enhancements came as she studied and practiced music and vocals.  She learned to project her voice, practiced breathing exercises where she could prolong the scream, and found ever higher pitches.  I knew it well. 

The question concerning my care and protection of Chelsea arose during her second trip to Nicaragua.  On this trip other local youth were present along with two other parents and those charged with the overall care of those youth and the group as a whole.  Dylan Schlandt, a dear friend of Chelsea’s and his father, Donnie were in that group along with Scott Kidd and two of his children.  There were probably close to a dozen youth altogether.  They had spent a grueling week of hard labor building homes, and a school in a small village and were looking forward to the next day’s non-work beach day, as were the adults.

As was the routine during the quiet evening time small groups developed scattered around the property enjoying conversations, cervazas, company, or just reading.  Donnie and I became aware of a problem when we were informed that many of the youth were “missing”, including his son, my daughter, and about six others once a count was taken.  Donnie and I continued our relaxation on the curb.  The scene became more hectic with others questioning the remaining youth, instituting search parties, and eliciting assistance from local security guards, and neighbors.  Donnie and I continued to remain near the cooler.  Eventually through extensive interrogation of the remaining youth, it became known that their missing friends had decided to visit the “field”.  Assumptions were made that it was a local ball field, or maybe the local park field.  Groups were dispatched to those areas with no luck in finding those missing. 

Finally, we on the curb were approached and questioned as to why we were not doing anything to hunt for our own children.  Those with us were asked “if your child was missing what would you be doing?’  “Don’t you care that your children are out there in a strange country, possible gangs, etc.?”  With our parenting skills in question, Donnie and I made a short walk around the block, discussed the situation and returned to our spot on the curb.  During that walk I explained to Donnie that I had absolutely no worry about Chelsea’s present well-being.  I knew that I would be able to hear her scream much further than she could walk.  I knew that deep down and without question.  Donnie’s reasoning was similar in that as far as potential gangs were concerned, they, our group of kids were the gang out that night.  The children all returned shortly thereafter from a rice field down the road, safe and sound.  I could have done more that night; I could have joined the intense efforts the others were providing, I could have roamed further, I could have called louder, been more hectic, but I did not.  I only trusted in my knowledge of my daughter and her screaming.  I will not know if I was right or wrong in this instance nor any of the others before or after.  The questions will always remain.

 

I did take Chelsea aside upon her return that night and of course asked “what the hell she was doing?”  She said that they went to the rice field just walking then stopped and looked at the amazing stars.  Stars that are not visible here, the Southern Cross and others that even if the city lights were dimmer cannot be seen from our hemisphere.  Stars and constellations that she may have recognized were now either missing or out of place.  She said that standing in the open rice field peering into heaven under all those bright stars made her feel small and insignificant.  I guess that we all have done that at one time or another and had those same feelings.  I know that now she is safe for I hear no screams and I know that she is neither small nor insignificant, that her star is large and will always remain bright.