Devin's Way, Chapter 1

Sorry to do this out of order, but I figured now that Chapter 1 is necessary to put everything into context, so here is an excerpt from that chapter.

CHAPTER 1

            Our family began planning our annual, neighborhood canoe trip back in February 2011. Every year in August, for the last 10 years, several neighbors and friends have gotten together to spend a weekend canoeing down the Wisconsin river and camping on sand bars, which are like mini-islands, along the way.

            Word of caution: There are no bathrooms on these weekend excursions. If you need a toilet, you carry a shovel into a wooded area on a sandbar. Some are able to make it an entire weekend, but most end up breaking down and saying, “I need to walk the shovel.”

            And we all know what “walking the shovel” means.

            It truly is roughing it.

            Devin has been on most of these yearly canoe trips, and could be a paddling fool on the water, where he could show off his boundless energy. These are not easy ordeals. We pack all our food, refreshments, camping gear, portable stoves and other equipment in large, black trash bags that are tied to the canoes with bungee cords. If one of those canoes tips, and the gear gets wet, it could make for an ugly, miserable weekend.

            Same goes for rain, but we’d been pretty much blessed each year, only enduring a little spritz or sprinkle at the worst, though we heard plenty of stories of said downpours happening in the years before we moved to Kenosha and became part of the yearly canoe trip.

            It was bound to happen to us eventually.

            A couple years back, hours after we picked out a great sand bar, ate dinner, made sure our canoes were secure and some of us were turning into bed, the wind picked up … and it didn’t stop. It howled louder and louder before, in the next few seconds, we were in the middle of the damned closest thing that could be compared to a hurricane mixed with a torrential flood pouring from the black sky above.

            It kept going, and growing and getting stronger and scarier by the second.

            I jumped up and grabbed hold of the inside corner of one tent, while our youngest son, Stephen, tried holding down another. At any second, either of us might lose and find the whole tent -- us included -- tossed into the angry Wisconsin River.

            Devin, exhibiting a mixture of pure stupidity, courage or a little of both, lunged outside to rescue canoes before they could float away, as well as chairs and other random items being hurled around in the wind. This was no passing storm, or if it was, it decided to pass over top of us and then stick around, right on our sand bar, the better part of 20 minutes.

            It was damn windy and damn scary.

            When the mayhem finally ended, we did a tally of people and equipment. We came through soaked and battered but all accounted for.

            The next day, Wisconsin just acted like the night before never happened, while we sat around a bit shell-shocked as we tried to dry out gear, repack it in garbage bags and make our way back down the river to our final destination.

            Looking back, that might not have been possible, had Devin not run outside the tent to rescue our canoes.

            We finally had “one of those trips” that we could now talk about for the next 10 years.

            Our 2010 trip was the first year the trip had to be totally postponed before it ever happened, literally changing in the moments before we got in our cars to make the three-hour drive to our launch site. Heavy rains made the river impossible to navigate, with no sand bars, which meant no canoe rentals. On a whim, we called Christmas Mountain Village, where we own a timeshare, and found they had room at their campground. Instead of camping, we spent the weekend camping at a resort and hiking around Devil’s Lake.

            Roughing it … with a real bathroom to poop and get a shower, not to mention a pool and hot tub, and lots of water parks nearby. No need to walk the shovel.

            It was a great time, so when plans came up again this year, we opted to forego the canoe-only trip, and make a return to Christmas Mountain. It would include camping, a one-day canoe trip and a one-day hiking trip along the challenging Devil’s Lake trails.

            The trip would take place Aug. 5 to 8.

            I had already planned the time off from work, and did shopping to get ready for the trip, when I got a phone call from my public affairs buddy, Tomah Jim. Jim was so nicknamed by me -- and appropriately so -- because he was my counterpart at the Tomah, Wis., VA hospital.

            A year earlier, we had both volunteered to participate in the VA’s National Wheelchair Games, where paralyzed veterans from across the United States, Puerto Rico and Great Britain, compete in a series of athletic events such as rugby, basketball, pool, table tennis, and an excruciatingly hard obstacle course -- all the while in wheelchairs. I especially wanted to get picked because the Games were taking place in my hometown of Pittsburgh, Pa.

            As it turned out, Jimmy got the OK to go to the games. My coworker, Brian Walker, who has worked at 17 of the last games, was picked, too.

            I wasn’t picked. As a relative newcomer to the VA, I didn’t make the cut. Needless to say, I was a bit bummed. It was Pittsburgh, my hometown after all!

            The phone call from Jim was a pleasant surprise but presented a bit of a quandary. Someone on the public affairs staff had dropped out at the last moment, and they needed  a replacement. He recommended me. The problem was the Wheelchair Games were taking place July 31 to Aug. 6, the same exact time as the annual camping trip.

            My Doe-Eyed Bride, Ruth, told me it would be OK to go to the Games. She and our youngest son, Stephen, would go on the camping trip. Ruth’s best friend in the world, Miriam Reda, would also come in from Virginia, and be on the trip as well, along with our neighbors, the Edmarks, and the Lemens.

            Devin wanted to go, too, but he had a summer job working weekends at the Renaissance Faire in Bristol. Plus, he needed the money because he had plans to move into a house with three of his best friends.

            We told Devin he could house sit for us. It was win-win all around. Our dogs, Sandy, a yellow Lab, and Shadow, a black Lab/Shepherd mix, wouldn’t have to spend the weekend in a kennel and Devin could use the extra money. Besides, he loved the dogs. One of his last Facebook posts was, "I just realized how needy these canines are." 

            Since then, of the millions of scenarios that have played out in our heads since Aug. 7, one of them has been: “Why didn’t we bring Devin along on the trip and put the dogs in a kennel? He’d still be alive … ”

            There are a million other things that could have happened, and he’d still be alive … had he stayed at the Ren Faire to give one more hug, had he left 10 seconds earlier, had the girl driving taken a different route or not gotten a call …

            A man can drive himself insane while thinking of the different scenarios. 

            Unbeknownst to us for more than 12 hours after it happened, our son was dead.

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