Too often, we beat dads up without thinking about how many are good and want to be better. My good friend, Chuck, knew what it meant to be a good dad, but after a horrific accident, he learned what being a father really meant. Chuck’s testimony inspires me and I pray it will inspire you too.
Chuck’s Story
It’s true. It’s powerful. But to many, it’s almost rhetoric. We’ve heard it a thousand times, haven’t we? Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not depart from it. Without doubt, the verse will be spoken from pulpits all throughout the nation this Father’s Day. As it does, words from Proverbs 22:6 will bring will bring uneasiness, restlessness, a twinge of panic inside for some fathers.
Because some fathers have a story. A roadblock in the way.
On the chilly morning of September 28, 2018, at about 3:30 a.m., my life changed forever. As a dairy farmer milking cows on our family farm, I made a quick decision, thinking I was fast enough to unlatch a gate before a skid-steer backed into it. The skid-steer beat me to it, jerking the gate free from its lock, slamming it directly into my forehead. Looking back, I should have let it go. But the damage was done. And there was no undoing it.
I woke up on the floor. Paramedics were all around me. I heard one say, “He just threw up pure blood.” The world blurred. Things became fuzzy. Convinced I was dying, I prayed God would receive my spirit. You only get one chance to meet Jesus for the first time, I thought. I better enjoy this for all I can. My eyes closed. I felt total peace. And again, I drifted off into unconsciousness. Fully expecting a sweet moment. With my Savior. Face to face.
But I did not wake up in heaven, nor understand that I came out of a medically induced coma. When my eyes opened, I couldn’t focus. A confusing place: a hospital trauma unit. A nurse appeared. Words blurred. There’s two of her. There’s two of everything. What’s going on? Everything hurts. My insides convulsed.
Waking up was not fun.
Recovery is long and hard with a traumatic brain injury. My mind recounts the troubles:
- A fractured skull in two places.
- Bleeding in my brain.
- Double vision for over six months.
- A deaf left ear. Insane tinnitus . . . like a roaring jet engine.
- Uncontrolled migraines.
- Vertigo.
- Unable to handle noise, light, motion.
- Learning to walk again.
- Remembering again.
- Talking again.
- Everything again.
Why, I had to relearn everything all over again like a child would.
I Was a Father
And while those things were hard on me, none were as hard as the pain I carried mentally and emotionally. Because I was a father. One who couldn’t be a father anymore.
It’s the heart cry of every dad—to be there for his children. But after my accident, I sat on a couch. Every day. All day. Simply surviving. Recovering. My kids came to see me, but I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t sense where they were or what they were doing. I wanted to be with them, but the slightest commotion got to me. It was hard for everyone; it wasn’t fair to them to be so quiet. Hard thoughts attacked me: What can an injured dad do with them? I’ll give the kids credit, though. They tried. At first, we watched movies. But I watched many movies without sound. I watched movies with the screen turned dark. So dark, in fact, they couldn’t see it.
Soon, they got tired of watching movies.
For those of you who suffer some type of disability, I’m in your corner. I know the pain you feel, the constant struggle you battle internally—that wanting of something more. I empathize with you. Because I’m still there. You see, I grieved the loss of my health. Deeply. But it was much more than that. I grieved the loss of a dream—the fun and excitement of sharing all sorts of experiences with my kids. Ones I had on my bucket list. Ones I assumed would always be there to enjoy. Yes, I grieved. I grieved hard. And it took a long time to accept my disability.
Let’s be real men. The world teaches us that our performance dictates our value. Because of this, a disability brings much more than just physical loss. Not being there for your children in ways the world expects can debilitate a man much further than any physical limitations do.
It’s emotionally and mentally traumatizing.
And to be honest, there’s much more. Every dad feels it—not just disabled ones.
- Those who have been through divorce with split homes, not seeing their children as much as they would like.
- Those that have been through family struggles—divisions leaving scars, pushing people away.
- Those that due to unfortunate misunderstandings haven’t spoken to their children in a long time.
The struggles are real for so many.
Dad Guilt
My mind remembers it well: Dad guilt. Like a monster attacking me.
- Don’t my kids deserve better?
- How will we love each other if I can’t do the things we used to do?
- Will they grow tired of me while I’m stuck in this chair?
- Am I still important to them?
- How will I teach them what they need to know?
- How will I be there for them?
The doubt continued, I failed. I’m not teaching my children stuff they need.
Now I’m not an expert—I’m still working on it. But it’s been almost five years since my traumatic brain injury. And I can finally see it—those thoughts are garbage. That’s why I write to you. I write to give you hope and strength.
Because there is much more for us to do.
Clarence Budington Kelland is best known for this quote: “My father didn’t tell me how to live. He lived and let me watch him do it.”
And isn’t that the truth?
I confess openly: it was hard. There were many nights of inner turmoil, anguish, and pain. But years later, I know there is more truth to living for your children than performing for your children. I had it completely backwards.
Don’t get me wrong. Kids want to play ball, run in a park, and do all sorts of fun things. But make no mistake about it. When you live fatherhood, that surpasses anything a disability says you’re coming up short on. It goes beyond the limitations of a custody schedule. It travels beyond distance between homes. Living trumps performing. Because they simply don’t equal.
And children know it.
Today, there are still things I wish I could do. I won’t lie, I miss those things. I still see the roadblocks on my path. But I’ve found ways to love on my children, raise them, nurture them, and father them despite my injury. I value what we still have with great importance—things that will carry children much farther than throwing a ball, riding a rollercoaster, jumping out of an airplane, or spending every second of our lives together. We’ve adjusted to value the quality of time rather than the quantity of time. And it’s rather beautiful.
When we as dads take a deep breath, accept what is, and focus on what we still can do, we father successfully. From one father to another, I speak into you: Regardless of your situation, know that being a father is priceless—and you can totally rock it out.
It’s not a roadblock. It’s an opportunity.
And when you implement what’s really important, you will Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.
God bless, and Happy Father’s Day.
By Chuck Carr
Chuck Carr is the award-winning author of Wonders In The Deep, All That the Locusts Have Eaten, Navigating Grief, and The Convergence. He and his wife live with their three boys in the countryside of Southwestern Pennsylvania. You can find him with these social links.
https://www.chuck-carr.com https://www.facebook.com/AuthorChuckCarr https://www.instagram.com/authorchuckcarr/In need of MORE encouragement?
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