The Phoenix Project

Note: I originally wrote this on April 21, 2012, and then promptly forgot all about it. Enjoy!

A few hours ago, I was in a pretty crappy mood. The details don’t matter too much, but in brief, I was frustrated from a failed project with a friend, and after that, got to thinking too hard about my troubles with the elusive world of dating. I was stewing in my frustration and was willingly allowing those feelings to smolder.

Everyone has their moments when things aren’t going right, and when, for whatever reason, it just feels pleasing to stew in those feelings. I’m somewhat of an expert on the topic, having developed a sure-fire and failsafe method of dwelling on my misery, and suffering silently as I remark at how shitty the world is to people, and to me in particular. If I sit down and think about it, I could probably come up with dozens of times that I let myself quietly fume because someone said something that hurt my feelings, or someone didn’t give me the credit that I deserved, or plans fell through, or a date didn’t work out, or a sure-thing blind-date never showed, or my life didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to, or my car broke down, or my cat barfed on the carpet. It took no time at all to write that sentence. Long story short, I’m damn good at brooding on my feelings.

I came to a stop-light, shooting a death stare at the crack in my windshield, when a subtle thought came into my mind. “What good does it do to hold on to what you’re feeling right now?”

A lot of things happened in that moment. I quickly took inventory of how my day could be crappy if I let it. I could go home, lay on the couch, still brooding, and snap at anyone that happened to wander too close. I could watch the news and feel disillusioned at the state of the world. I could skeptically look over personals ads online and grunt in displeasure at the mess that is dating.

I had another option, though. This one quickly flowed through my mind. I could have a good day too.

I closed my eyes very briefly, took a deep breath, and on the exhalation, released all the frustration and poor attitude.

That’s all it took. It literally took 5 seconds to change my day.

I have to say, it was a great day! I finished up dog-sitting with a friend, and got to speak with her while my toes grew numb on the cool spring evening grass in my freshly-mowed lawn. Moments of joy, happiness, warmth, and gratitude marked the day, and I’m so glad I had the “release it all” thought.

I’m getting a pretty firm grasp on something pretty amazing: we have the potential and ability to completely control our thoughts and feelings.

Well, not always, but it’s kinda cool to realize that sometimes, it’s as easy as flipping a switch.

For some reason, I’ve been very much absorbed in reading and learning about survival lately. Netflix has brought along several tv series that have been absolutely enthralling. “Survivorman” and “Out of the Wild” have gripped me, and it seems that I have a hard time paying attention to any other detail in life when they’re on. I’ve found myself glued to the computer while Youtube videos have taught me various fire starting techniques, snare setting how-to’s, how to make char cloth, and the benefits of 550 paracord woven into stylish and functional accessories. I’ve even set a goal to craft my own bow…”just because.” I was enthralled with the first book of The Hunger Games because of the emphasis on wilderness survival.

The other day, I remarked at this focus that has crept into my life and I started wondering, “Why?” Why is wilderness survival drawing so much of my interest? Why am I thirsting for this kind of knowledge?

It took me about an eighth of the way through “Deep Survival” by Laurence Gonzales to figure out why.

The book talks of survival situations, but not just in the wilderness. He talks about F-18 pilots landing on an aircraft carrier in the black of night, and movingly helps the reader understand that the act of landing a fighter craft on a carrier is a classic act of survival. So much can go wrong, so much, indeed, already has, as many pilots and crew members have met their demise in this way. If the emotions and mind are not in-check, chances are, the pilot won’t ever fly again.

Gonzales speaks eloquently about the way the mind and emotions work in concert to allow the human being the best chance of survival. He claims that in the worst situations, only about 10% of people will be able to emerge with the most favorable outcomes. What separates the survivors from the rest of the crop?

Gonzales states that it is a balance between ability to control the mind and remain calm, but at the same time, succumb when an emotional reaction wants you to drop everything and flee at a milliseconds’ notice. Emotions are nature’s in-grained, naturally-selected way of keeping the individual alive long enough to pass along their genes. Now, of course, in our day and age, this explanation seems cold and callous. One can suggest that technology and social advances trump our genes, and these life-preserving impulses are nowhere near as necessary as they once were to our survival, especially in the relative safety of our towns, cities, and homes.

The mind is the rational sense of being that can help keep the emotions in check and avoid states of panic. The mind can help quell the emotions through methods such as rational thought process, practice, and humor.

While fascinating, these facts don’t explain why I am fascinated with the subject, and I never really was aware of my fascination until I came to a significant bit of insight. It dawned on me while reading Gonzales. I am a survivor. Of course, that’s why it rings true to me!

The last 3 years brought me closer to death than I would ever have wanted to be. I know what people say when they talk about staring death in the face. I know that I had complete and total control of only one piece of my life during the worst times, and that was whether or not my life continued on.

I’ll share the details of my own story, my own Phoenix story, in the future, but I’m not ready to share it all with the masses quite yet. Long story short, everything I had was stripped away thanks to the cruelty of someone who decided they needed to take power over my life. I spent years building up a career and a base of friends, and it was all taken from me. I made a simple mistake that someone blew out of proportion, and that was it. I had no chance to talk to anyone about my error, indeed, nobody gave any consideration to my own flawed humanity tempered with a kind heart, good nature, a vast skill set, and born-in talent and will to do a hell of a lot of good in this world. Nobody cared to get to know me as a person before they cast my life aside.

That sucks.

When I lost it all and could find not even a shred of passion in my life, I realized that the only power I had over my own life was the power to end it. I had a plan, a means, and a date. Counselors trained in suicide prevention will readily share that those facts meant I was at a very high risk. I didn’t tell anyone either, never reached out for help during the darkest times, and planned on quietly leaving the state and never coming back. That’s another high risk factor: not reaching out for help. It meant that I wanted to die. It could very well have been the perfect storm.

Thoughts of my bright-faced nieces, a timely hug from a friend, and my brother-in-law saying the right thing at the right time stayed my hand, and somehow I looked to a possibility of a better future. No matter how slim, this was a motivator to stick it out just a little longer. The thought of my nieces losing a close family member was horrifying.

I was grasping at straws and luckily I found a few. And here I am. I survived.

This is going to sound rather dark, but there is something pleasant about knowing you have the power to take your life when you’re in the midst of personal loss and tragedy. I never thought I’d consider the option so thoroughly until just about everything I loved was forcefully stripped away. I was a shell of who I used to be, so why would it matter anyway?

My own suicidal ideation allowed me to feel in control in some morbid way. And looking back, that’s the shred of control that I needed to take the next step or two. And day after day, I was able to do a reasonable interpretation of functioning as I moved through those few months. Eventually, I started my business, found photography, and consulted with some very special people and The Phoenix Project was born.

Survival to me, at first, was an interesting hobby that brought together several things I love including camping, the backcountry, new knowledge to be learned, self-sufficiency, and impressing pretty girls by building a camp fire with a block of magnesium, a survival knife, and some damp kindling. While learning, my heart sang, and thanks to a fantastic book recommendation from my friends Curtis and Melissa, my mind was brought into the mix. I realized that a survivor has a deep interest in surviving, and if I’m any indication, wants to stack the deck in their favor for whatever the future may bring.

Life is all about surviving. Eating, drinking, breathing, breeding, routine, the home, and family and friends all have their challenges, but for the most part, are pretty darn easy relative to the grand scheme of things. When something comes along to rock your boat, be it death and loss, financial upset, disease, natural disaster, etc., things get tricky, and that is when your ability to survive is tested. And while it is awful to go through these things, these experiences truly offer the survivor an opportunity to see life for what it is. You can see the beauty around you, and appreciate with gratitude all you have and those people who stick with you.

Phoenixes have been through the tragedies of life, and have survived to tell their stories. They are the survivors who rise from the ashes and recreate their lives in new and powerful ways. I believe it is the way of the Phoenix to see the bright side and see survival as a way to connect with the excitement and constant gifts of living life.

The next time I’m met with a major life stress, I’m going to do my best to view it as a survival situation. I’ll do my best to keep my mind calm and my emotions in check but keenly attuned to their constant input. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll grin a bit defiantly as I look deep within that hardship and figure out a way to reconnect with life’s blessings as I survive, and maybe even thrive a little. Despite the tragedy, I’ll be looking forward to the opportunity.

Sheri is a dear friend of mine that I’ve had the pleasure of knowing for several years. We met at the local YMCA, where Sheri’s enthusiasm for fitness and love of teaching kept me coming back to her classes. Over the years, we struck up a solid friendship, and I learned that she had lost her husband some years prior. Not until I interviewed her did I learn the details of her story.

Sheri and her husband Gary met at a party thrown by a mutual friend. All through that night, they flirted and danced, and at the end of the evening, Gary wrote his phone number on a dollar bill and gave it to Sheri. With a grin and a laugh, Sheri recounted that she forgot the number was on the bill and ended up spending it somewhere. Luckily, Gary wouldn’t give up so easily, and talked to their friend about getting in touch with Sheri. It was a good thing too, since they quickly fell in love and got married not long after.

Gary and Sheri were both on top of the world in regards to their businesses, and wanted to live the American Dream. Not long after they were married, they got pregnant with their son, Max. Max was born healthy and happy, and they had the start of a beautiful family. Everything was great.

Gary was a bit of a thrill-seeker. He took up motor-cross racing, which Sheri wasn’t too thrilled about due to the danger factor, especially while they were raising a young son. About the time that Max was 15 months old, Gary went motor-cross racing one morning.

The night before, Sheri and Gary had a big fight, ending up with them sleeping in separate bedrooms. Max was sick, and Sheri and Gary disagreed about Gary going riding the next day while Sheri was taking care of a sick son.

The next morning, Sheri said that something woke her up and made her feel like she needed to go apologize to her husband. They made up and made plans for Sheri to join Gary with Max at the race track if Max ended up feeling better during the day. Gary was dressed in all of his motor cross gear and was getting ready to leave.

Something prompted Sheri to say to Gary as he went to leave, “Hey.” He turned around. “Be careful,” she said compassionately.

About 12:30pm that day, Sheri got a phone call. It was Gary’s friend. Gary’s friend said that he and Gary were riding together and that Gary had been in an accident. He told Sheri not to worry. Gary was alert and talking, and the friend told Sheri that Gary was going to be taken to the hospital.

Gary’s friend was trying his best to keep Sheri from worrying, downplaying the severity of Gary’s accident. He told her, with some attempted measure of levity, that Gary was going to get a helicopter ride to the hospital. He stated they were doing this because the bumpy dirt roads leading to the track weren’t safe to transport Gary on.

One of Sheri’s brother-in-laws came and drove Sheri and Max to Swedish Hospital in Denver. As they were driving towards the hospital, Gary’s flight for life helicopter was landing on the hospital’s roof helipad.

When Sheri got to the emergency room, nobody would tell her anything. Eventually, one of the hospital representatives came to Sheri and her brother-in-law to explain that Gary was in the building, but had no other answers as to his condition. At this point, Sheri had assumed that Gary broke a rib or an arm or something similar. She had no idea about the severity of his injuries, since nobody was telling her anything.

Eventually, the hospital chaplain came to meet with Sheri, which, for anyone who has encountered a chaplain in a hospital, is a scary experience. Chaplains are trained in counseling techniques and are often a first contact with families when family members are dealing with serious injury or life-threatening events.

Finally, Sheri and her brother-in-law were allowed to see Gary in his room. It was Gary’s will that he tell them what had happened and what they were looking at in terms of his injury. Gary was completely alert and composed. He told Sheri that he was in a motor-cross accident and was paralyzed from the waist down. At this time, Sheri was still thinking that his injuries amounted to broken bones, but the truth of the situation was about to sink in.

Gary told Sheri that his spinal cord was completely severed, and that he was going to have to have surgery immediately. He told her that chances were very good that he may never walk again.

Gary had the reputation of that guy who could do anything expertly. Whether it be kite surfing, skiing, or just about anything else, Gary was a natural at everything and could over-come anything life threw his way.

When Sheri heard of his severed spine, she immediately thought, “It’s Gary. He can overcome this.”

After a 17 hour surgery, they stabilized his spine and put in plates. The hospital staff told Sheri that at that point, Gary had less than 1% chance of walking again. Even with this news, Sheri still thought, “But it’s Gary.”

Gary was transferred to Craig Hospital, renowned for its expertise in traumatic brain and spinal cord injury. Sheri became very involved at Craig, raising thousands of dollars for the hospital. Gary was at Craig for four and a half months.

During this time, Sheri was essentially a single parent, taking care of Max full time, working full time, and being at the hospital for Gary.

Gary was fine when he was in the supportive environment at Craig, but when he came home, the reality set in and he was different. Gary went from being a 33 year old who was on top of the world with his marriage and his career, to a man who (he thought) was stripped of his autonomy and manhood.

To deal with nerve pain and other effects of his injury, Gary became dependent on pain killers. Sheri noticed a pattern that either he’d be happy and really high, or would be down and almost falling asleep in his wheelchair, depending on when he had taken his pain killers.

Sheri started asking him about his pill intake, and although Gary showed her his pillboxes, Sheri thought there was something going on.

In September, 2002, Sheri’s mother came out to visit, and they had a nice time. One day, Gary got really sick, with cold sweats and flu-like symptoms. A couple days later, Sheri insisted that he go to the doctor. When he returned from the doctor that afternoon, his mood had drastically improved. Gary told Sheri that the doctor had prescribed a new pain medication called Fentanyl, in a patch form that would release medication over time.

Gary went into his bathroom and locked the door. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be in there taking care of business for 45 minutes or an hour, so the fact that he was in there for a long time wasn’t unusual at first. When their dog became agitated, whining and whimpering at the bathroom door, Sheri knew something was wrong.

Sheri went to the bathroom door and called out to Gary. There was no answer. She knocked on the door, then pounded on it, still with no answer. Sheri’s mother called 911, and Sheri went to get a screwdriver to pry the door open. She found Gary there, slumped in his wheelchair with his head in the sink and his arm out to the side. He was purple and was not breathing.

The 911 operator told them to get Gary out of his wheelchair to perform CPR. When the paramedics arrived after what seemed like an eternity, they worked on him for 45 minutes. Unfortunately, they couldn’t revive him.

In the sink of the bathroom that Gary was in, they found needles. Gary had used the syringes to extract the Fentanyl from the patches and injected it into his veins, similar to a heroin injection. Later on, the coroner said that Gary had enough medication in his bloodstream to kill 5 men.

Sheri recalled that following Gary’s passing, there were times when she didn’t remember how she got through the days. While seeing a psychologist, Sheri said that she wouldn’t cry, but would just sit there and feel numb.

Everyone kept telling her “you’ve got to be strong; you’ve got to keep your job; you’ve got to hold on to your house; you’ve got to stay strong, strong, strong.” She never had the opportunity to grieve. Sheri was suddenly a single parent to a child just under two years old, with a house, a job, and all the responsibilities that come with all those things.

For about two years, Sheri said that she went into a pattern of just going through the motions. She would go to the psychologist and he would tell her that she needed to take care of herself. He remarked that he could see her hipbones because she had lost so much weight. She told me that she was 98 lbs at the time. Sheri would tell the doctor that she was fine, although she later was able to see that this was the opposite of the truth.

Sheri was in a programmed state of mind. She told me that during those two years, she has little recollection, and feels guilty that she doesn’t have a lot of memory of her son, Max, during that period of time.

After losing her job because she just couldn’t function at work, Sheri hit rock bottom. She had the realization that during the past two years, she had missed out on some good years with her son. It took her a while to come to the realization that life goes on, and that her purpose on the world at that time was to be a good parent for her child. It was up to her to start living life again.

One thing that helped get Sheri moving down her healing path was a conversation she had with her mother. Sheri was sitting on the patio one day, and suddenly started crying. Out of nowhere the tears came to her and wouldn’t stop. Sheri said that during the previous two years, she did not cry at all, not even a little bit. She was so closed off that the tears would not come. On that day that the tears finally came, Sheri called her mother. She came to the realization that she never asked her mother how she was doing through everything they went through when Gary died. Her mother was right there too, and Sheri remembered that her mother had been through a similar situation in the past, having found her own husband dead of a heart attack one morning when she came home from church. The fact that she never asked her mother how she was hit her suddenly. They talked on the phone and cried together for a long time, finally letting it all out. This was the first step Sheri would take towards picking herself up again.

Eventually, Sheri forced herself to start going to the gym. She began to take spin classes and eventually began weight training classes as well. Getting out of the house and meeting new people greatly helped Sheri on the road to recovery. The people she met there helped her to start laughing again. Sheri credits her friends, both the new ones at the gym and her old friends that stuck by her side, with getting her through the roughest of times.

Sheri wanted me to tell anybody reading this a few things. “Grieve, mourn, get it out. Don’t hold it in. Don’t let people tell you how to act, or what to do, or what to say. Get it out and don’t suppress your feelings.” Sheri acknowledged the fact that people grieve in different ways and at different paces. But what she really wanted to convey is that if you hold it in, it can have some really bad effects on your life. She lost two years with her son because she didn’t let it out.

“What makes life interesting is how quickly your life can change. At a split-second, one phone call…. One minute everything is great, and the next minute, life is changed forever. And that’s what tragedy does. You can overcome it. You can deal with it. You can say, ‘this sucks, why me?’” She went on, “I think you can look at life a few different ways. You can certainly question, ‘why, why, why? Woah is me. Why me? Why me? Why me?’” She passionately explained that while the questioning is normal, eventually you come to see that you have the choice to move on with life and deal with whatever tragedy you’ve encountered.

“We all have a story. Everybody’s got a story. One may not be as tragic as another, but we all have a story.” These are the words that rang out loud and clear to me: “It is what you do with it. You can either keep yourself down, and choose to live your life that way, questioning things, being resentful, and wondering, ‘why?’”

You have plenty of choices.

“When you feel like you’re at rock bottom, you probably are, but you don’t know that you’re actually there until you actually hit it. Sometimes you have to hit it before you get that reality awakening. But man, oh man, life is definitely worth living. I feel this has made me a stronger person. Unfortunately, sometimes it does take you to hit rock bottom. If I didn’t have my son, I don’t really know where I’d be.” Sheri took the time to honor her efforts in raising Max for the last 10 years. She proudly noted that Max is a good kid. She was happy to say that she has been a good mother and has given Max a great life.

As for what’s important in life, Sheri changed her priorities a bit. She offered me a few tidbits of how to live a better life. “Surround yourself with positive people. Surround yourself with people who have goals and don’t look at life negatively.”

Sheri’s story is a powerful one. There are many things to take from her story, but I’d like to highlight a few.

When you’re moving through a loss, there are really no rules as to how you should feel, or what you should do. Everyone moves through these things differently. Psychologists have outlined stages of grief, which many people are familiar with. These are a decent guideline, but the critics will tell you that no one model of grief, or anything else psychological for that matter, holds completely true for any individual. The best gift you can give yourself is patience, openness, acceptance, and time. They say that time heals, and it really, truly, does.

If you happen to be in the unique position to be a support for someone who is experiencing grief, there are many things to consider. First of all, you are in a fantastic position to give the gift of you to someone else. It can be stressful, draining, and difficult, but moments like those are good ones to throw your energy into. Be there for your friend or loved one, hug them, cry with them, compassionately tell them that it’ll be okay, because someday, it will.

Do not, for any reason, tell the grieving person what to do. It is not your place to pressure your own values or beliefs on someone else. If you do that, chances are that the grieving person will draw away from you. The last thing they need is more stress in their life. Simply sit next to them and listen to them and encourage them that what they’re going through is normal and it’s okay to feel whatever they’re feeling.

The exception to not telling them what to do is when their own action or lack of action puts them or another in danger. If someone is endangering their lives or the lives of others, appropriate action should be taken.

Everyone grieves at some point in their life, and everyone will likely be called upon to support another in their time of loss. The healing process takes time, and if it is met with openness, understanding, warmth, and plenty of time to recover, things will start to make sense again.

And it all takes time. If you’re moving through grief, be gentle with yourself. Give yourself enough time to process your emotions and be completely in touch with what you are feeling. Even if this takes ten times longer than you think it should, it’s okay. The heart mends in its own due time. Things will get better. Be sure of that in the darkest moments.

Sheri is a warmth and a source of light to those who are blessed enough to be around her. She has been able to make the most of things, and has moved along on her own personal path. Sheri is a Phoenix because she was able to work through her grief and enjoy the life she shares with her friends and family. She rose out of the ashes and brings great things to those she touches. She did it.

You can do it too.

Bill Line was told that he wouldn’t see his 34th birthday. He was told this only 6 weeks before he turned 34.

Bill is a caring and spiritual man, very easy to talk to and easy to be around. He and his wife were married shortly after graduating from high school and had 4 daughters.

Their youngest daughter was born July 19, 2005 with some health issues. When she was born, they actually thought they had had a son. They named him Matthew Robert Line and took him home, happy and ecstatic about the new addition to their family.

Eight days later, they got a call from a state doctor. He told them that a few tests came back positive and that their son was missing an enzyme. The doctor stated that it was imperative that they attend an appointment that the state doctor made with their pediatrician the next morning.

They arrived at the pediatrician, who did a normal wellness check. The pediatrician didn’t find anything wrong. He told them that they needed to go to a specialist because the baby was missing an enzyme. The pediatrician wouldn’t give them any more information, but did make them an appointment with the specialist at Swedish Hospital in Denver just an hour later. They left immediately.

The specialist was a pediatric endocrinologist. After they arrived in his office, the doctor’s first words were, “Nice to meet you. What’s the baby’s name?”

Bill responded, “My son’s name is Matthew.”

“I’m not very comfortable calling your son a son.”

Externally, his son was a boy, with all the parts you’d expect to find on a healthy baby boy. What was the doctor talking about, anyway?

The doctor went on to explain. The baby’s adrenal gland was broken, essentially. Among other things, the doctor explained that the male puberty is controlled by this gland.

In the first trimester of pregnancy, everyone is female. During the second trimester, the Y chromosome kicks in and the males differentiate as males, developing male secondary sex characteristics.

In the baby’s second trimester, the broken adrenal gland turned on male puberty. This formed the secondary sex characteristics, but the baby still had ovaries. Internally, Bill’s son was actually another daughter.

The doctor said that she was very sick and would do a chromosome test, just to be sure. He said that she needed steroids to provide cortisol and retain salt in her body or she would die. The doctor told them to get to Children’s Hospital immediately and not to even stop for red lights. He said that there wasn’t even any time to call an ambulance.

The specialist showed up and she was admitted to Children’s for testing and was placed on steroids. The steroids helped keep blood pressure regulated and keep salt in the kidneys. The chromosome came back, showing that she was genetically a girl.

Bill and his wife were presented with some difficult choices. She was going to grow up genetically female and have a menstrual cycle and develop breasts. Would they choose to have a surgery now and change the male parts to match her female genes, or raise her as a boy until her menstrual cycle, and then have the surgery? These choices should never have to be made by a parent. They chose to change her name and have the surgery so her outside matched her inside.

They named her Destynee Ryann Line.

In January of 2006, they went to Indianapolis to meet with a doctor that had performed surgeries on two other similar CAH babies. He did the surgery, with 100% success. Everything went well with the recovery and things were about as good as you could get.

Bill got a new job and he and his family moved to Wyoming. By some stroke of luck, their doctor traveled regularly to Wyoming, so they didn’t even have to change doctors. That made the move much easier.

Destynee was doing amazingly well, responding to the steroids and living a happy and healthy life.

They decided to head to Minnesota for Halloween that year to visit Bill’s sister, since her family had never met Destynee. When they got up there, things were going well, except that Destynee was whining all the time. She continued to get her medication as normal. During the day she was fine, but she had a couple rough nights, as all babies do.

They left the morning off November 2, 2006, and drove back to Wyoming. The got to Council Bluff, Iowa and stopped for lunch and everything was fine. Later on, in Omaha, one of the other kids needed to use the bathroom, so they stopped at a gas station. Bill took the two older kids inside to use the bathroom.

While in the bathroom, a woman came into the bathroom and asked, “Is there a Bill in here?”

The first thing that came to Bill’s mind was that something happened to his daughter.

He ran out of the bathroom and the lady said that his wife needed to see him in the parking lot. The lady offered to help his other daughters finish up.

As he ran out the door he heard, “Call 911, the baby’s not breathing.” He ran out and his wife was holding Destynee. The baby was dead.

Destynee was airlifted to a hospital in Omaha. A sheriff drove everyone to the hospital and when they got there, they were met by Social Services. They took Bill’s kids, and eventually met with three doctors. They told her that there wasn’t a lot that they could do and that Destynee was DOA. The paramedics tried their best to revive her, but they weren’t successful.

Bill and his wife were devastated. They weren’t given time to console each other, as the police immediately split them up, without even giving Bill time to kiss his wife or tell her that he loved her.

The detectives took Bill to another room and started questioning he and his wife separately. The police had searched the family van that was still at the gas station. All of the baby’s medication was still in the van, still in the name of Matthew. The police questioned them about why were they giving Matthew’s medication to Destynee. The police just did not understand and would not listen to their explanation.

Finally, they got a hold of Destynee’s doctor, who confirmed that Destynee was born as Matthew before they knew about the enzyme problem and before the surgery. Still, he and his wife were separated and hadn’t been allowed to see the baby yet to say their final goodbyes.

Eventually, by some stroke of luck that Bill still didn’t understand at the time of the interview, his sister somehow found out about the baby and had her former partner, a higher-up in Homeland Security, pull some strings. The detectives vanished, and Bill and his wife were finally allowed to kiss the baby and say their goodbyes. His sister’s former partner showed up at the hospital, telling Bill that his sister was on the way. He offered for them to stay at his house that day, not far from the hospital.

They went to his house, and Bill’s relatives from all over began traveling to Omaha to be with them. They had to make arrangements for their daughter, and decided to get her cremated, because they couldn’t leave Omaha with the body unless they had it shipped. They decided to have her cremated so they could take her home. Bill’s wife would not leave Omaha without her daughter.

They made it back home to Wyoming, and all too suddenly, they were thrust back into their old routine, going back to work.

Bill turned to food to deal with his loss. He didn’t talk to anyone. He ate and ate and ate.

Bill told me that he weighed about 275 lbs out of High School, and estimated that he was about 350 when his daughter passed away in 2006. By January of 2010, he weighed 505 lbs.

Bill got really sick in Wyoming, and the doctors couldn’t tell him exactly what was wrong with him. He had a hard time walking, breathing, and even working. He was working 60 hour work weeks, on his feet most of the time at 505 lbs. His performance suffered, and he lost his job. He and his family lost their house, and were forced to move back to Denver to a small apartment. They had to leave half of their stuff in Wyoming because they couldn’t afford a larger moving truck.

He and his wife both got jobs in Denver so they could get health insurance and get health care again.

In December of 2009, Bill got the courage to go back to the doctor. The doctor told him that he needed to do a sleep study, pulmonary test and a few others. The tests told him that he needed to go to the hospital immediately to redo the sleep study. The numbers appeared to be flawed, and he redid the test. His oxygen level while sleeping was about 42%. They will generally hospitalize anyone when their oxygen level is anything below 90%. He was diagnosed with sleep apnea. They said that during the average 8 hour night of sleep, Bill was getting only about 15 minutes of actual helpful sleep. They stated that the weight of Bill’s neck was crushing his larynx as he slept, and they were scared that he simply wouldn’t wake up.

The doctor said that the only thing they could do to ensure that he’d live through any given night was to install a tracheotomy tube so he could breath. They told him he needed to lose 250 lbs as soon as possible and that gastric bypass was the only thing that would work at this point. They said that if he didn’t do these two things, he wouldn’t live to see his 34th birthday. When they told him this, it was the middle of January, barely six weeks before his birthday.

He had the trach placed in his throat in January, and the doctors told him that the next step was gastric bypass. If he didn’t get the surgery, they told him he wouldn’t live another six months.

The insurance company denied his surgery. They stated that he wanted the surgery for cosmetic reasons. After a long and stressful battle with the insurance company, and a letter from his cardiologist saying that the surgery is necessary or Bill will die, progress was made. In May, the insurance company approved the surgery. He couldn’t get in for the procedure until June because, of course, the physician was out of the country on vacation.

Mind you, in January, the doctor said six months would be the end of Bill, and the end of June was getting really close to that six months. Bill was very worried. Luckily, the physician returned and got Bill in for surgery on June 9, 2010.

Bill successfully recovered from surgery, and his weight loss journey began. He bounced back and was getting better, and acknowledged how close he was to an early death, which would have left behind three beautiful daughters and a loving wife.

Bill was on disability and times were tough. His church pitched in and helped him and his family out. The church paid his rent every month and greatly contributed to keeping them afloat. His wife went to various charities and experienced the kindness of strangers, which greatly helped them in their time of need.

Things are better now. Bill runs a store, keying in on his years of restaurant management experience. He started back to work after his surgery to see if he could do it. Eventually, he posted his resume on his church’s website, and was contacted through there and landed his management job in May of 2011.

On January 17, 2012, Bill claimed victory. This is what his Facebook status read on that day: “I have officially lost 300 pounds!!! It took me 2 years to the month and a Rue N Y gastric bypass surgery and the love and support of many many family and friends but I have went from 505 to 205. Thank you all!!”

300 lbs. Bill brought himself back from the brink, having suffered through a tragedy that nobody should ever have to live through. He dealt with his anguish by turning to food, and it almost ended his life. It’s not too hard to think, when I met and talked to Bill, that someone was looking out for him and his family. He is a man who deserves to be here and lives a good and honest life.

After the gastric bypass surgery, Bill lost an amazing 30 lbs in seven days. He saw a glimpse then that things would be okay.

Bill said that he first really saw the light when he was finally able to sleep through the night. They took the trach tube out right before Halloween of 2010. He was scared because the trach allowed him to live and breath at night. The first couple nights after they took it out, he didn’t sleep out of fear. He finally decided that since he lost 150 lbs, he could safely go to sleep. He awoke that next morning, having slept comfortably through the night. When he woke up that morning, he knew that he was going to live. “In that moment, the light was there, and I knew, ‘Hey, everything is going to be okay.’”

As for their day-to-day lives, Bill said, “We’re just chuggin’ man.” He and his family are living life and enjoying each day. His girls are growing up and thriving, enjoying basketball games, holidays, and pretty much everything that comes with a happy life.

Bill and his family look back on Destynee’s birthday, and on the day she left. Those are hard days, but they are able to get through them, thanks to their own strength and the support of their friends and family.

Bill said that he has only one more surgery to do, a cosmetic procedure to get rid of excess skin that is a result of rapid weight loss. He said that it costs $20,000 and is not covered by insurance.

Bill was able to move forward and see the bright spots in life again. Like any good Phoenix, he was able to spread his wings and fly after being burned down by tragedy. This is a good man that experienced loss so dramatic that I can’t even imagine what it was and is like to deal with. The fact that he sat down with me and so eloquently shared his story, coupled with a positivity and optimism looking towards the future, grateful for the myriad of blessings in his life; it all is deeply moving.

There are many lessons in his story for the reader. If you have lost a child, you are not alone. There are others out there that have some idea of the pain that you are dealing with. On lonely, sleepless nights, that simple fact might help a little.

There are many ways of easing the pain while moving through the hard times. Some people listen to music, write it out, talk to others, exercise, etc. Some people turn to more detrimental means. It’s important to do your best to keep things from getting out of hand. Whether it be drugs, alcohol, or even food, all things in excess can take their toll. Getting help and talking to others about what you’re going through is a helpful step that can make your recovery smoother. The hardest part is getting started.

The Phoenix Project is taking off, and this is exciting news! I am happy to announce the official blog and home page for the Phoenix Project, an attempt to share the stories of those who have been through trying ordeals, and have been able to turn tragedy into opportunity. I call these people “Phoenixes,” since they have arisen from their ashes and spread their wings once more.

More will be coming in the next days and weeks. I am currently working with friends and strangers to setup interviews so I can begin to learn the stories of others, and share their words with you. Check back often over the next few weeks and please contact me with any questions you have.

In the meantime, take a look at the links at the top of the page, and note that these pages will be updated as the project continues to grow and evolve.

Thanks for your interest and support, and I look forward to the journey!