West Coast Post-Trauma Retreat

I realized tonight, that none of us have any guarantee for tomorrow.

I thought whole heartedly I may never be able to raise my head again, and look at either one of you in the face. For you have not only sat and listened to my brokenness, but now you can see it.

As much as I feel completely exposed and totally destroyed....
I realize, I AM NOT. I am here, I am present, I am human, and I am thankful~

I have had many close calls, where I wasn't supposed to make it by all accounts, and I am here, as we all are for a reason~

This greater purpose, This greater thing, This greater being~
Then ourselves, My second, Third, and Fourth chance to get "it" right, just may be why I'm still here~

So with all of this said, and the guarantee, there are No guarantee's~
We are not promised a tomorrow- - It is with that, that I say my over whelming desire to hang my head and let my shame be my prison- Stops here, and Starts with, Thank you~

If there was no tomorrow, my greatest desire today, is to convey how deeply thankful I am to each and every one of you~

Mark & Stephanie- For donating your time and expertise, for giving of yourselves & families, so that other's might succeed- In hopes we all leave here a little bit better then when we came-

Peers- Your selfless time, your willingness to share your personal stories, your ear to listen, and of course your words of encouragement and great cooking!

All of you, just for even being willing to be here and try this "Retreat," speaks volumes of your character~ Your efforts to work hard, do better then before, and be a good, "whole" person~ It is with that, I Thank you~

First and foremost this is about ME!!!!!!!!! It's not about you or anyone else it is about ME!!!! If you read this and have some similarity or can relate to this GREAT. But it is still about ME!!!!!!!!!! If I can pass on this knowledge and you can learn something about it GREAT. I can not change anyone. I only have control to change myself. So you can learn from me but if you want to change, you have to do it yourself.

I just returned from the West Coast Post-trauma Retreat. I let MYSELF fall. I thought someone would pick me up. I was wrong. The people I wanted to pick me up didn't. They don't know who they are and it really does not MATTER. The FACT is I needed to pick MYSELF up and I did learn that. I turned MY self-pity, hurt and anger into self destruction. I knew this and could not help MYSELF so I sought help and found it.

If you need help, you have to find it. If you need Directions, ask. It's all out there, just find it. I learned at the Retreat I was not going crazy. Excuse the language the truth is I discovered I was JUST F-CKED UP. There are a lot of people out there that have the same feelings. They are as normal as MYSELF. Going through this process at the end I found out it was F-CKING MAGICAL.

Everyone can change if they choose to. Most people know wrong from right so it is your choice. If you are going to do right, it is your choice. If you are going to do wrong, it is your choice. Just remember there are a lot of consequences if you choose wrong. Wrong choices hurt not just yourself but everyone you love and who loves you. But Remember this is about ME not YOU so don't let any of this make you mad.

Hi All,
I have to admit it was hard leaving on Sunday. I broke into tears several times in the morning and felt like I was going down hill. I was going through many emotions and at times thought it would be nice if the program lasted three months, I could handle that. But, it didn't, so I'm back home. When Gary Larsen dropped me off at the airport I stepped out of his truck and realized that after five days of living in such security, Gary was my last line of defense, and I now had to fend for myself. I felt dizzy, out of place, and confused so I sat on a bench and watched Gary drive away. Once Gary was out of sight I stood up, stretched, and walked into the terminal. As I entered the terminal everything was blurry and it seamed as if I was walking in slow motion, I had tunnel vision. I thought, CRAP, what is going on with me? Here I am at the airport and I'm starting to freak out. I stopped walking and stood still for a couple minutes, took deep breaths, and began to walk again. Now, I was feeling better. I checked my bags, got my ticket, and went through security. I walked through the terminal and arrived at my gate where I sat and waited to board. I was in group C so I was one of the last one to board the plane. I sat in the first row middle seat. I could see the door that I boarded through. Going back to my ride with Gary, as I was riding in his truck away from WCPR I felt like I had strong rope attached to my back. As we continued to travel it felt like all the negative feelings I came to WCPR with were getting sucked out of my back the farther we went more feelings were coming out. The rope was still attached as I sat in my seat, I watched the door as the attendant closed it, SLAM, the door closed and the rope got cut. I had a calm go through out my body. The plane took off, I was still feeling the calm. After a two hour flight I arrived back home, did some laundry and went to sleep thinking I would wake in the morning and be back to the way I felt before WCPR. When I woke I closed my eyes to go back to sleep, I was scared I would wake up feeling the way I felt for the past year. Instead of falling asleep I got up. I felt great!!! I couldn't remember the last time I felt this good. I did more today inside and out, including joining a gym, than I have in the two years. Words cannot explain what you guys have done for me. Now, I know now I am not alone. 2007 participant

Neither did Clint Eastwood, Jack Webb, nor my father, I was told, so neither would I. My heroes helped shape my mind so life’s unexplainable and unfair situations could be deflected from penetrating the mental steel armor I put on every day working for the CHP. In the beginning I wanted my new shiny armor to be as thick and hardened as the old road dogs that were my training officers, my new heroes. I was trained to always be hyper-vigilant and in control, to project a strong command presence that would bring order to the chaos. Weakness was not an option.

I thought the steel of my mental armor was impenetrable as it was tempered again and again by the fire of the tragedies that I witnessed, the unjust mayhem, injuries, and death. When I thought that my armor was starting to crack, I would seek the counsel of my comrades to weld up the weak spots. We would reinforce our armor with new layers of steel forged over coffee between calls, during after shift barbeques with beer, and other untold occasions where I was reminded that “This is the job we signed up for.” Over time I saw my peers temperaments change as they wore their armor, now dented, scarred and scorched from their own calls, without complaining, and that reinforced the concept that weakness was not an option.

In 1992 I was told as a new supervisor to look for cracks in the armor of my troops, and refer them to seek the assistance of professionals through the Employee Assistance Program. I thought that my own armor had become as hard as titanium as it was tested again and again by all of the horrendous crashes, the high speed pursuits, the shootings, the murders, and even the suicide of my classmate last year. My armor had to be invincible since weakness in a supervisor is not an option.

After 23 years on the road I felt like I was fireproof and that my armor could withstand even the fires of Hell itself . . . until September 16, 2006 at 10:25 P.M.. It wasn’t my call or even my shift since my long day was over, but since both C-watch units, two shift sergeants, and the Area commander had responded to this second fatal collision for the day, I stayed over with another officer to help cover other calls. When I realized that it was a multiple fatality accident and the responsible driver had fled the scene on foot, it was inevitable that I would take myself there to help, and again expose my armor to yet another scorching. I arrived on scene to another unjust tragedy that wiped out three generations of an entire family returning home from a baptism reception. I have seen parents and grandparents die before due to the selfish actions of drunk drivers, but my battle hardened armor was pierced, straight through my heart, when I could not accept the truth that I could not find a pulse on the six month old baby who appeared only to be sleeping in the security of his car seat, or his three year old brother who was only noticed because of his small arm protruding from the twisted metal. When Captain Scott Silsbee gave me permission to help and try to find the miscreant that caused these innocent people to die, I quickly welded a patch on my broken armor and did what I was trained to do. A team of officers with their own personal armor intact worked through the night and the next morning without rest until the still drunk driver was captured two blocks from his home by my newest hero, Officer Dan Yeager. The team watched the driver lie and deny his responsibility from an adjoining room while the MAIT investigators did their best; eventually getting a confession mixed with lies late in the afternoon from a person incapable of showing compassion for those not living his gang infested life style.

Although consumed before by other investigations, this one was different, as countless hours by the investigation team during the case preparation turned the days to weeks, and the weeks to months, because any weakness in the case was not an option. After the funerals were long over and the case was delivered to the District Attorney’s Office, I noticed I was constantly welding cracks in my armor that had gone undetected; the cracks were depression, confusion, nightmares, unexpected boiling of emotions, and other cracks too long to list. I used my seasoned and field tested coping skills to weld up the cracks, but more cracks were appearing and some old welds were failing. I began to believe that my armor was weak, and at times I thought I was going crazy; but I put on my ‘game face’ every day to not let anyone see my weakness because weakness was not an option.

I finally sought the counsel of only a few retired and active members who I knew I could trust with my damaged armor, and was directed to the same place, the Employee Assistance Program. The professional help I sought was good, but the new coping skills I was learning were not fixing all of the cracks in my armor. Through forces beyond my control, other people’s lives crossed my path, and I was fortunate enough to get the opportunity to attend the twenty sixth session at the West Coast Post Trauma Retreat (WCPR) in May. The professionals at WCPR are all veteran police and fire personnel who have ‘been there ’, and they let me take off my damaged armor for the first time since 1983. The staff at WCPR gave me a new set of tools to manage the old memories, and the future memories that are inevitable in this line of work. I am feeling better now since finishing the most intense week of my life, and have a new group of heroes; the dedicated staff at WCPR, Assistant Chief Lauren Dummer, Captain Scott Silsbee, Captain Fred Stiesberg (Ret), Sergeant Jim Howarth, Officer Rick Mattos, Flight Officer Leslie Berndl, and last, but not least, my wonderful wife; all who gave of themselves from their hearts with true compassion and genuine understanding.

I feel lighter and stronger now with the old armor off, and want to share my experience to help other members of the CHP family with their own cracked armor; for no matter if you have been to one critical incident or dispatched us to a hundred, getting help is not a weakness; but a strength. I know now that it is O.K. to grieve and cry for the unjust tragedies that we experience on the road and in the communication centers. When I returned home from WCPR my five year old daughter Angelina exclaimed “My daddy’s home!”, and little did she understand that she was right in more ways than one, and if anyone ever told you that John Wayne or Clint Eastwood never cried, they lied.

“There was no touchy/feely group hugs, etc. Just well organized instructions & discussions that helped make sense of the way I’d reacted to some chaotic events.” –2002 Participant

“If those people hadn’t been there for me, I honestly don’t know what would have happened. I don’t think I would be here to talk about it.” –LA Times, 2003

“I came away with a better understanding of what causes and how better to deal with PTSD, plus dealing with other issues from 23 years of Law Enforcement related ‘baggage.’ I highly recommend the retreat to anyone that has dealt with our profession’s ‘dilemmas’ as well as personal issues.” –Previous Participant

"I told myself I was coming here with an open mind
but while driving the winding road,
that thought faded in the distanced hills that were left behind.
Once I arrived and walked through the door, I looked at everyone's face.
I recognized the ones like me because they looked uncomfortable and out of place.
I observed the people like me and as the days went by I could see
the classes helped them, all it took was time.
I hope I can be as receptive as the people like me
because I know at the end of the tunnel there is light to see
I do know if I don't take advantage of the help & advice that has been awarded me,
to become the person that I can fully be,
knowing I'll be able to set myself free
then all I can say is "shame on me".
Because it will be another guilt added to my list that didn't have to be."
- Poem written by 2007 Participant