July 24, 1998..."If There is a God, He Will Have To Beg You to Forgive Him"*

My dearest son,

       On July 24, 1998 at 1:25 pm, exactly 15 years ago. you drowned.  I have never had the courage to use the word "drown" because of the terror that emanates from the image.  I have always said near-drowning, but the reality is that you did drown, submerged 25 minutes under the waters of a raging river, a foot entrapped in rocks.  Heroic efforts were made to bring you to the surface.  No pulse, no heartbeat, no respiration, just a blue pallor and a peaceful face.  God was asleep, he was absent, he was indifferent, perhaps he never existed.  Yet, you survived; not by any intervention of  divine nature but rather through the remnants of our evolutionary heritage's response to the possibility of drowning , the mammalian diving reflex.  You survived months in Intensive Care - left without speech, the ability to communicate, the ability to move, and a body which gradually froze in spasticity and contracture. You hovered between death and life and eventually chose life.  Everyone pretended to care, at least for awhile.  You were momentarily surrounded by friends, relatives, flowers, balloons and trinkets...for a awhile.  But that was 15 years ago.....
      To this day, I am plagued by images of you being entrapped and enveloped in water.  I am plagued by the terror which filled every cell of your being.  I am plagued by the fear of your impending death.  I am plagued by the image of planning a funeral as I traveled to the trauma center.  I was plagued by the possibility  that you might not make it, that you would be alone...your greatest fear as a child.  I am plagued that you always spoke to me about the need to be cared for, long before the accident.  I am plagued by the unspoken, unacknowledged burden and grief that these events have imposed upon my daughter, Aimee.   I am plagued...wounded, and the wounds can never, ever heal.  Maybe, they should not heal! One never gets over this terror.  For 15 years, I have never eliminated the fear that something can go wrong.  I think and feel the worst; smiling is a rarity for me, even though you, my son, always smile.  The sorrow is chronic and the fear unending.  I never, as a father, yield - always searching for the magic bullet which makes life easier for you.
       But you, son, are alone,   Alone in your fear, your thoughts, your dreams.  You are alone, even as mom and dad passionately and unconditionally care for you every minute of every day for 15 years.  Alone...but, does it have to be so?  Where are those friends, your cousins, your aunts and uncles, your teachers and therapists...all those who should care and reinforce the fact that you are not alone, that you are alive, that your life is worthy?  Why have they run?  Fear, lack of comfort, time and distance, not knowing the words to say. fear of the look in your eyes, my son,  guilt over the lies they told (remember, some said they would be there for however long it takes).  Do they see their souls in your loving and yearning eyes? What stories have they fabricated to justify leaving you alone?  Or is it the evil of human indifference, the "not caring" which renders you only an abstraction.
     July 24 will come and go.  We will celebrate your life and struggle with you.  Will there be a phone call to see if you are still alive?  Will there be cards, flowers, balloons, small tokens of love?  I know one hero who will call, who always calls on that day to say you are never forgotten.  One man, one constant voice in a wilderness and sea of indifference.  There are also a few others of importance and significance who will remember. Yet, your struggle is more meaningful than that of others to whom much is given...but should much not be expected from ?
        I have many questions to ask you?  How intense was the struggle to live..how much fear did you experience? Did you see the other side when you drowned?  Did someone tell you it was not your time? Did someone tell your spirit to return to your body?  How much did you fight?  How much do you remember?  What went through your mind?  Did you see the white light?  Was this side better than that side?  Did you know you would be cared for on this side?  Did you know the intensity your fight would demand of you?  Did you know and believe that  your parents would become warriors for you?  Did you know that your friends and relatives would soon leave?  Did you know that people would be fearful to visit you and to care for you...did you know in that 25 minutes what life would be like and why did you choose this life?  What do you feel about people who have abandoned you, who opposed you in your fight for justice?  Did you forgive them or is that forgiveness for them to find for themselves?  Is there any emotion which evaded your consciousness?  What prompts you to continue the fight on a daily basis?  Someday we will have this conversation...someday I will know and someday I will no longer have to wonder.  And yes, if there is a God, He will need to beg forgiveness from both of us...he was asleep, he was indifferent, he was absent...

       And so we continue, for many years ...as long as life sustains us.  We will continue with care and love to sustain your life.  We will continue with all the therapies and infusions of energy because they support life.  We will appreciate the efforts and energies of those who sustain the flow of that energy.  We will always continue for no reason other than these efforts are WORTHY.  There is no higher tribute to life than to live a worthy life.  To do this because you are my son, because there might be a god and a heaven, because we are linked, debases the reality that we do what we so simply because it is good, it is worthy and that is that sole nature of existence...to do good and live a worthy life.

dad

Of course, indifference can be tempting -- more than that, seductive. It is so much easier to look away from victims. It is so much easier to avoid such rude interruptions to our work, our dreams, our hopes. It is, after all, awkward, troublesome, to be involved in another person's pain and despair. Yet, for the person who is indifferent, his or her neighbor are of no consequence. And, therefore, their lives are meaningless. Their hidden or even visible anguish is of no interest. Indifference reduces the other to an abstraction. Elie Weisel, 1999

*“If there is a God, He will have to beg my forgiveness.” — A phrase that was carved on the walls of a concentration camp cell during WWII by a Jewish prisoner (Mauthausen camp).

Moving from Apology to Forgiveness to Closure ... It Can Happen!

     July 24, 1998 to July 24, 2012...the fourteenth anniversary of Adam's near drowning and we acknowledge this day each year as a re-birth, a time to reflect.  This year, it is important to  remind ourselves  of the power of apology and forgiveness.  The previous blog of a few days ago described the details of the accident and the silence and indifference of the college and the State of Massachusetts.  This caused obvious pain which could not simply dissolve into the netherworld of forgiveness ..."turning the other cheek" is the worst biblical adage.
    I read a book, many years into this process:  On Apology, by Dr. Aaron Lazare.

"One of the most profound interactions that can occur between people, apologies have the power to heal humiliations, free the mind from deep-seated guilt, remove the desire for vengeance, and ultimately restore broken relationships. With On Apology, Aaron Lazare offers an eye-opening analysis of this vital interaction, illuminating an often hidden corner of the human heart.
He discusses the importance of shame, guilt, and humiliation, the initial reluctance to apologize, the simplicity of the act of apologizing, the spontaneous generosity and forgiveness on the part of the offended, the transfer of power and respect between two parties, and much more. Readers will not only find a wealth of insight that they can apply to their own lives, but also a deeper understanding of national and international conflicts and how we might resolve them. 
The act of apologizing is quite simply immensely fulfilling. On Apology opens a window onto this common occurrence to reveal the feelings and actions at the heart of this profound interaction." (Amazon.com book description)


   I bought several copies, passing one on to the college president.  After meeting with him, he agreed to mediate and dialogue about my need for apology so that closure could occur.  We worked regularly, the president, Sharon and I, and our mediator to achieve what all of us initially believed was unattainable.  Six months of work, commitment, tears and brutal honesty.  Not easy...many times either side neared walking away, but no one ever did. There was apology, there was forgiveness and there was genuine closure.  I have never experienced the depth of honesty and dialogue which evolved in the process and probably never will again in this life.  The following is an apt description in the news media.

DIANE BRONCACCIO Recorder Staff *1/12/2008

GREENFIELD -- Almost a decade after young Adam

Dzialo of Greenfield was severely injured in a river

accident during a camp program run by Greenfield

Community College, the family got something that was

important to them: an apology.

At an all-school meeting in GCC's Sloan Theater, about 100 college
officials, staff and faculty members met with Adam, Sharon and Philip
Dzialo to express compassion and wish the Dzialos well as they leave
Franklin County, their home for 30 years, and move to Falmouth, on Cape
Cod. "By offering this apology, we hope to facilitate healing, not only for
you but for our campus and community," GCC President Robert L. Pura
told the family. "I don't think anyone can fully understand your suffering.

The least that GCC can do is to continue to try and understand, as best we
can, the magnitude of your suffering and the ways in which we have been
responsible. Be assured that our remorse is deeply felt, our commitment to
learn from you and never forget is sincere. I pledge on behalf of the college
that GCC will never repeat the behaviors that contributed to your distress."

Adam Dzialo turns 22 on Monday, which will be his last day of school at
Mohawk Trail Regional School. A near-drowning accident during a GCC
summer camp program on the Deerfield River in July 1998 left the then 12-
year-old boy with brain damage and mobility loss. He remains in a
wheelchair and still spends several hours a day in extensive, home-based
rehabilitation therapy.

Philip Dzialo, the longtime principal of Mohawk Trail Regional School,
retired 1 years ago; Sharon Dzialo, who left her job as a counselor at the
Franklin County Technical School to care full-time for Adam during the
first years after the accident, returned to her job for a couple years before
retiring.

In 2004, the Dzialo family received a $936,000 settlement from the state
for Adam, who is likely to need medical care for many years to come.

But the settlement didn't bring the emotional closure that came with
Thursday's meeting, according to the Dzialos and to Pura.

What brought Pura and the Dzialos together this week was a book that
inspired Phil Dzialo, called "On Apology," by Aaron Lazare, the retired
chancellor of the University of Massachusetts Medical Center. Phil Dzialo
said the book "helped me see things and understand them better. It gave us
some tools to make the bridge (to the college)."

He e-mailed Pura, saying the book had given him more clarity about what
the Dzialo family needed for closure on the tragic accident. He asked Pura
to read the book and to talk to him.

Pura read the book, which talks about what constitutes a genuine apology
and how the process can change personal and even international strife.

Then the Dzialos and Pura met in several mediation sessions with David
Singer, beginning in April, to resolve remaining conflicts.

Thursday's meeting between the family and the college community resulted
in more openness, trust and even enough ease for the groups to be able to
laugh together and joke, said Pura. "Many described yesterday's event as a
dark cloud lifting," he said. "We all want that for Aimee (Adam's sister),
Adam, Sharon and Phil."

"There were a great many tears," he said of the meeting. "There were also
tears of joy, in seeing this incredibly strong and courageous family."
"As a family, we had wanted this and needed this for a long time," said
Sharon Dzialo.

In his apology, Pura expressed regret for several mishandled steps
following the river accident. They included the college's failure to contact
the Dzialos right after the accident; instead, the Dzialos didn't know Adam
was injured until contacted several hours later by the hospital. He also
apologized for the lack of contact and support from the college during the
first hours that the Dzialos waited at the hospital, not knowing whether
Adam would survive. The items also included the college's failure to have
written a letter of apology earlier to the family. Most of the incidents Pura
cited occurred before Pura was hired by GCC in 2000.

Phil and Sharon Dzialo, in accepting the apology, acknowledged "there
were many good people" at GCC who "expressed a deep compassion for
our journey. We are aware that, in an atmosphere of litigation, it is difficult
for anyone to express their feelings and to act upon them."

Singer said conflict-resolution "is not the norm" for most people in a
situation like this. "When conflict arises, fear sets in and people are
distrustful. That tends to happen immediately. Sometimes, people stay that
way."

The Dzialos and Pura praised the mediation process that helped them. "I
think the important thing is, for the community to know, that the resolution
of conflict is very possible and very real," said Phil Dzialo. "I hope the
process we went through publicly will help serve as a model of hope for
other people."

As the Dzialos prepare to move to Cape Cod, Sharon Dzialo said, "we
hope to invite new people into our lives." Phil Dzialo, who works with the
ARC of Franklin and Hampshire Counties, says he intends to remain active
as an advocate of the services that the ARC provides for people with
cognitive disabilities.

Adam is also excited about the prospect of moving on, according to his
mother. "I tell him we're going on vacation for the rest of our lives," she
said.

Copyright, 2008, Greenfield Recorder

Forgiveness

   That story led to an editorial by the newspaper which I share:

EDITORIAL *1/17/2008 Time and healing What are

the ingredients necessary to foster healing? Patience, a

healthy environment and a desire to restore one's

health are part of the package.

And, of course, time. Recovery and healing are often governed by time. It's
part of human nature to want healing to happen quickly. After all, accidents
or tragic events seem to happen in a blink of an eye, why can't recovery
move just as quickly?

Healing, though, sets its own pace.

 
Time and the other ingredients were finally aligned in the relationship
between the Dzialo family and Greenfield Community College, to create an
opportunity to bring healing and a sense of peace that has been elusive for
almost 10 years.

There's no person, then or now, who wouldn't want to turn the clock back
to prevent the circumstances and events from unfolding as they did on the
Deerfield River in July 1998, where a 12-year-old boy named Adam
Dzialo nearly drowned while participating in a outdoor adventures day
camp sponsored by GCC.

The accident left the young Dzialo with brain injuries and mobility loss that
are a part of his daily life and which require continued therapy and medical
care.

It changed forever the course of his life and that of his family.

And it led to bitterness from some in Adam's family toward the college
over the way the accident was handled. Now at least that bitterness has
been resolved.

As GCC President Robert L. Pura said during the meeting between the
college community and the Dzialo family, "The least that GCC can do is to
continue to try and understand, as best we can, the magnitude of your
suffering and the ways in which we have been responsible. I pledge on
behalf of the college that GCC will never repeat the behaviors that
contributed to your distress."

For Adam Dzialo's parents clearly there was a desire to bring about
closure to promote greater healing. Making that happen, though required
crossing the divide that had been created with the school.

The methods to do so, said Philip Dzialo, Adam's father, were found after
reading the book, "On Apology" by Aaron Lazare. Dzialo reached out to
Pura and GCC and with more time and the help of mediation, they were
able to find a way to accomplish what was necessary -- an appropriate
apology and the acceptance of that apology.

Paul Boese, a Dutch physician and botanist who lived from 1668-1738, is
credited with writing, "Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does
enlarge the future."

By reaching this point, the Dzialo family and GCC can move forward and
create, we hope, brighter futures.

It has taken time, but this healing can now take place.

Copyright, 2008, The Recorder, Greenfield, MA

       So, we celebrate the 14th year!  Healing, Apology, Forgiveness and Closure are distinct human possibilities, but not with mutual work, outside assistance, honesty, sincerity and love.  It can happen, but not often...it should happen, often!  This is Adam's lesson and one of his contributions to community!

13 Years and Remembering....July 24, 1998

       Adam nearly drowned (25 minutes under water) on July 24, 1998...13 years ago.  We honor his new birth every year at this time and recommit ourselves to his continued recovery.  The following is Chapter 1 from Sharon's book "Ceramic to Clay" which was published last October.  

THE FIRST DAY

     I awoke to a beautiful summer morning.  I had an eight-week break from my job as a high school counselor.  A long to-do list awaited me, most of the activities related to my younger child, my son, Adam.  On Sunday, he was to leave for a hockey camp at Providence College in Rhode Island.  A large duffle bag was lying open in his bedroom, overflowing with clothes, supplies, hockey equipment, and a few surprises.  This would be his first week-long experience away from home.  He was excited and nervous, and I was an anxious mother.  Sleepovers were difficult for him.  I half anticipated checking into a hotel near Providence College so he would feel safer.  I shouldn’t have been so worried, because he was attending this camp with his good friend, Stephen.  Both had been playing hockey for at least five years.  Adam had chosen the position of goalie and demonstrated great skills.  Just that year, we had customized a helmet for him with the words “no fear” and a tiger’s roaring mouth.  

     I planned to pick him up later that day.  He had been attending an adventure camp at the local community college and was just returning from an overnight camping trip.  After the pick-up, we were going to head directly to a baseball tournament.  He was playing for an all-star team, and though hockey was his favorite sport, baseball was a close second.

     I was filled with thoughts of my boy this day, missing him and wondering how tired and cranky he would be after this adventure and more adventures to come.  Adam liked to keep busy, so this kind of schedule was nothing unusual for him.

     The day was proceeding according to schedule.  My 14-year-old daughter, Aimee, was working at the YMCA.  She called to say that she needed a ride home.  I left as my husband, Philip, arrived home from work.  He then received the phone call that all parents dread with every fiber of their being.  Adam was at Baystate Trauma Center.  He had been in a swimming accident, and his condition was critical.  Phil was told not to come alone.  He got in the car and searched for me as I was driving Aimee home.  We delivered Aimee to a friend's house and headed to the hospital.

     I drove.  I don't remember what we did with the other car.  I remember thinking that I was in better shape than Phil.  He just kept repeating the words, “Don't come alone. Don’t come alone.”  I focused on driving and was distracted by only a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.  I wasn't sure that I could make it to the hospital without vomiting.

     Minutes before we arrived at the hospital and I could actually see it directly in front of us, I experienced a strange feeling. I felt “flooded with calm.”  I looked at Phil and said, “Adam is still with us.  I would know if he was not. . .”  I could not have been more certain of anything. 

     We parked the car directly in front of the emergency room, where a social worker was waiting for us.  She explained the seriousness of Adam's condition and the circumstances of the accident.  No one from the camp was there.    The doctors at the trauma center were attempting to stabilize him.  It was critical; he had been underwater for a very long time.

     The social worker then left us alone in a closed room—no one to talk with, no one to question.  Phil and I just kept looking at each other, repeating what we knew.  We could not make any sense out of this incredibly frightening turn of events.  I remember feeling intense cold.  I could not warm myself.  I kept asking for blankets, wrapping myself as I paced back and forth.

     Finally, the social worker returned.  It felt like many hours had passed.  She informed us that Adam had been stabilized enough to move him to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.  He was on a ventilator and had been placed in a medically induced coma.  We didn't and couldn't understand any of this.  Adam was going to his baseball tournament; he would be late.  We were invited to accompany Adam in the elevator with his doctors.

     My son, my Adam, lay on a stretcher.  His eyes were closed, and he looked puffy and gray.  He was receiving oxygen, and two doctors were monitoring his transport.  One doctor was very kind.  He spoke compassionately and encouraged us to touch and kiss Adam.  I was screaming silently, No, no, this is not my son.  My son is not on this stretcher, not in a coma.  I need to leave now to pick him up at the community college.  He's going to be late for his game.  This child on the stretcher was Adam, but he wasn't Adam.  He bore little resemblance to the wiry, hyper, athletic 12-year-old we had said good-bye to yesterday morning.  He felt untouchable—too cold, too gray, too far away. He was freezing; I was freezing.

     Phil leaned against the wall of the elevator and crumpled over, weeping.  Those tears poured out for days.  He would look at me and say, “I can't stop crying. . .”  He felt totally out of control; he was inconsolable.  I had never before witnessed this depth of emotion in my husband. 

     We settled in with Adam in a private room in the ICU.  Our watch began; we were afraid to look away from the monitors that registered continued signs of life in this pale, silent son.  Machines were holding him steady.  I heard the words, “The next seventy-two hours are the most critical.”  The doctors were most concerned about fluid building up in his brain, the “secondary assault” so common in brain injuries.  Several CAT scans were done.  Adam missed that second assault.  What did all this mean? 

     Phil, Aimee, and I settled into a huge chair at the foot of Adam's bed.  Aimee was to begin high school in a few months. None of this made sense to her.  She did not want her brother to die, and she questioned us constantly.  We could not assure her with answers.  We held each other, watched the monitors, watched Adam breathe, and waited.  I remember sitting there, closing my eyes, and reaching deep inside to search again and again for that “flooding of calm.”  Each and every time, I found it.  Though I shed many tears and I felt intense anxiety, I never spiraled down into the deepest place of grief and unimaginable fear.  As long as I could find this “calm,” I believed that Adam was with us and would stay with us.  I did not, however, have any idea what to expect from his brain injury.  When he opened his eyes, what would we see? What would he see?

Adam at a public hearing regarding the accident
four months after the near-drowning