With Time and Change, Love Remains – Kenny’s Story
My wife, Julie, and I had been enjoying the festivities at a holiday party in 2019 when suddenly a clear and intrusive thought shook me: “Kenny is dead.” I felt uneasy, to the point where someone asked me if I was doing okay but I dismissed the intrusive thought I had as not urgent or imminent and politely said, “I’m fine.”
On the drive home from the party, we stopped at the convenience store where our son, Kenny, worked as a store clerk. I figured we’d fill the gas tank and say hello to him. But the attendant said Kenny hadn’t shown up and was 30 minutes late for his overnight shift.
We still had no real reason to panic at this point, except for the horrible thought I’d had at the party. I called Kenny from the car as we drove home. He didn’t answer, and I left an urgent voice message on his phone. The horrible thought I had at the party was sinking in. My hand was shaking so much as I attempted to end the call and my thumb missed, so it was still recording as I said, “I think he’s dead!”
By the time we were breaking into his bedroom, Julie was saying he’d probably just overslept but I knew better and screamed “He’s dead.” Then we opened the door. Nothing can prepare you for that.
My world was shattered when I entered the room. Kenny lay face down on his bed. His arms were slightly outstretched with legs naturally bent and his head turned slightly to his left. I felt his leg and it was cold with a faint discoloration and splotches, from lack of circulation, I guess.
Our other son, Derek frantically helped me turn Kenny over to perform CPR even though I knew he was gone. I looked into his open eyes and mouth, and I heard myself scream several times, agonized and high-pitched, “He’s gone!” “He’s gone!”
According to the police investigation, Kenny had back pain from unloading trucks at his work and my son reached out to someone who knew a guy who got him two counterfeit pain pills. One pill was still on his nightstand when I found him. The other, laced with a fatal dose of fentanyl, killed him. I’m not suggesting it was the first time he ever tried drugs, but I can say based on his phone records and the ensuing investigation that Kenny was a misinformed young person who thought he could safely self-medicate.
For the better part of two years, I started having horrible anxiety attacks. Being in crowds suddenly became unbearable. I developed constant high blood pressure. The trauma altered my hormone levels, and my testosterone went from high-normal to very low. I put on 28 pounds of depression weight. Life became a struggle.
Every two months or so, I’d have life-altering flashbacks of the moment I found him and interacted with his body, along with physical pain and fear for my safety. The “fight or flight” response would last for hours and rendered me helpless as I rocked back and forth and begged God or the Universe to kill me. It was truly horrific.
On one occasion while driving, my brain went into grief overload, and I suddenly had no recollection of who or even what I was. It was as if was driving a car that I had never been in before and had zero memory. I started to panic and did not recognize my own name on the car registration. As I stared into the rear-view mirror, all I saw was a middle-aged man that I couldn’t place or recognize. I noticed a phone that had fallen on the passenger side floorboard with a screensaver picture of my son. I thought this handsome kid must have been important to me and then after a few minutes, my reality came flooding back.
I eventually started to search for meaning in the pain. Heroes started to emerge. I attended therapy and grief groups. I prayed. I used essential oils and various anxiety hacks. I read dozens of books. I rediscovered writing in general and poetry, in particular. It helped me process the hurt.
I have learned to find meaning in the death of my son. I did this by continually asking variations of the question “Is there anything good about my situation?” At first, I was appalled at such a notion, and I answered with a string of expletives but gradually I started to slice it thin and see glimmers of hope.
I have a friend who is humorous on a comedic level. He told a spontaneous joke and I smiled and laughed. In those few seconds, I realized that I wasn’t depressed or crying, and I was grateful for our friendship.
I used to think there was absolutely nothing worse than losing a child, but I met a man who lost two children. I felt a profound empathy towards him and an overwhelming thankfulness that other people in my life were still here. Eventually, I began to understand that there must be a reason I’ve experienced such overwhelming grief and chaos. It must be for some greater good in the end.
It’s moments like those mentioned above that drive me to continue to process my loss but the overriding question that really drives me is “What story am I going to tell Kenny when I eventually see him again?”
I choose to believe this, and it drives me. Grief is not linear, and I deal with a host of fears and still cry often but I continue to find reasons to press on. Did I become permanently wounded and give up? Did depression and PTSD leave me helpless and stuck? Or did I find a way to honor his memory and help people?
In his death, Kenny has become by biggest hero. My love and appreciation for him have grown tremendously since his passing. I strive to live in a way that will honor him and make him proud.
One way I hope that I’m honoring him is by founding “Grievers and Poets” to help children, teens, and adults who grieve. We published our first poetry grief book for children and I currently, speak twice a month to civic groups and other organizations.
For many years prior to my son’s death, I wrote poetry for children and did an assembly program that has now been adapted for families who have lost a special person(s). It’s a grief sensitive, family-friendly program that explores the pain of loss. We laugh, we cry, and we love.
Our plans include other books and resources for those who grieve. I believe you need to experience the pain to process your grief and I hope to continue to find ways to help others.
It has not been easy, but I have found that my greatest source of pain has also become my greatest impetus for growth. I will never be the same person I was before Kenny died. Rest assured, I will continue to press on and find ways to integrate my loss.
When Kenny came into this world, via C-section, I was the first to hold him. I distinctly remember how the nurse handed him to me and I peeled back the blanket and said “I love you. Daddy loves you.” and then kissed his forehead. The last time I saw him was the morning before his death. He was just getting off his overnight shift at the store and I came in to purchase a morning beverage. We spoke for a few moments, and I said “Have a great day. I love you.” He smiled and quickly looked around to see if anyone was listening and said, “I love you too Dad.”
Grieve Well,
Ken Slesarik
ABOUT KEN SLESARIK:
Ken Slesarik is a special education teacher, children’s poet, and grief educator from Phoenix, Arizona. He is the author of the children’s book “Grievers and Poets: When a Loved One Dies.” His poems have been published in many anthologies and he regularly hosts poetry programs for students. Ken has spoken at conferences, written poetry curricula, and enjoys providing professional development for teachers. Ken’s mission is to empower those who grieve through the healing power of poetry.
Grievers and Poets: When a Loved One Dies
by Ken Slesarik (Author)