I am > Fire

The youtube video includes the author reading the article, as well as a quick bonus video of Kris Kruse writing out a special message that testifies to his recovery. 

I am > Fire

The sun rays filter through the car window, and Kris Kruse and his partners are on patrol in beautiful Lake County, Florida. It is July of 2015 and Kris has just started touring on duty as a police officer. He has always looked forward to a career in law enforcement, and now it is official. He wears the badge. His radio crackles with calls. He is living out his training on a daily basis, his future spread before him like open waters ready to be explored.

But he barely made it through 8 months of his new career when a backyard bonfire accident seared his skin, nerves, muscle and tissue on 69% of his young 21 year old body. The explosion on Superbowl Sunday 2016 caught him by surprise, and the flames licked at him for seconds that felt like eternity. He fought the flames desperately, while his friends rushed to help him. Normality would take a backseat for several months, while he underwent 11 surgeries and lived at the hospital for 97 days, mostly in ICU. His parents would sit by his bedside, crying over their once vibrant son wrapped in bandages and given a grim diagnosis.

“I was trapped inside for hours and days, unable to walk or move. Because I am naturally an outdoors person, this drove me nuts. I eventually didn’t even watch TV. If someone was in the room, we would talk. But I mostly just laid there on the bed.” Staring. Waiting. Wondering. What comes next?

He worked hard to fight deadly infections, obeying the nurses and praying for the skin grafts to set well as his body started to heal at snail pace. He then had to relearn how to grip a fork, breathe normally and bravely stand with a walker. He began to practice small steps. Except that with his progress came interrupting surgeries that set him back again. The daily process was grueling, but he clung pitbull-like to hope.

“I was never suicidal. I have always had a strong spirit, and when things got tough, I knew I just had to keep moving on. I had to learn to walk several times, cramming 22 years of growing into 5 months. My long term goals felt like a million miles away. So I turned my eyes to short term goals: Cut a steak, bend my fingers, walk without a walker.”

The support system from outside those grim hospital walls was unreal. His Bravo Squad from the police force brought in a framed group picture that compelled him daily to fight hard. That was his team. His men. His supporters. He didn’t want to let them down and was determined to push through, so he could join them again soon. Several police departments made banners, and his room was bursting at the seams with decorations, well-wishes and colorful encouragement. Friends and strangers from all over the world rallied together, KRIS STRONG, willing him to fight tough. He received a special letter from a family he had helped back when he was first starting out as a police officer and it is one of his most precious pieces of mail. When the family’s home was broken into, Kris was one of the officers to respond. The alarm had been tripped and the front door was mysteriously hanging open. Even after clearing the house of any danger, the parents and two small boys were visibly shaken. Kris stayed behind with another officer and took a few extra minutes to walk through the house again with the two boys in tow. He encouraged them to keep their parents and family safe. Kris handed out Junior Police stickers for the little boys, and they beamed as they each wore their badge of honor. Kris gave them peace of mind as well as a mission. Strong words of encouragement from families like this renewed Kris’ passion for the job and gave him continual motivation to keep working hard to get out of the hospital.

Kris pushed himself daily to walk those extra few steps during his physical therapy. When his body screamed at him to stop running it into a brick wall, he lay back down and thought, “If not today, tomorrow.” Kris was resilient. Tenacious. Refusing to give up.

I am > Fire. This is Kris’ mantra, written with strength by a complete stranger. Kris read this phrase from a letter he received while still in the hospital, and the powerful phrase describes his battle perfectly. Kris, literally surviving fire, has come out on the other side an overcomer. He can look back and say, “Wow- fire did not defeat me. I am greater than fire.”

Looking toward the future doesn’t scare him. He amazingly seems unaffected by the accident, still extremely focused on his career. “My goals and dreams haven’t changed. I want to serve on the Police Force for at least 20 years and retire with honors.” He wants to help significantly with the Explorer program, something that he was a part of as a teenager. He dreams of helping other teens train to be law enforcement officers, maybe getting the program running going in other counties.

He knows that it will take a while but wants to get back on the streets, patrolling and providing security for his city. He loves being the one to answer a person’s last call of desperation. While they are in their worst moments on a fierce search for help, he can be their answer. Kris sees being a police officer as a great way to give back to the community, and he enjoys watching civilians transform from a place of desperation into something positive. As of October 31^st he is back at the Police Station working again.

A couple weeks ago, Kris shot his gun at the range for the first time since the accident. He was still sensitive from all of the nerve damage and re-growth in his hands. But the crack of the gun and the familiar blast put a huge smile on his face. He shed his humble spirit for just a moment, grinning with pride at the accuracy of his shots. “I still got it.”

Yes, Kris you do.  

**This article was featured as the GRIT Spotlight for the local non-profit foundation AaronStrong. Kris Kruse is an amazing example of GRIT- Growth, Resilience, Initiative and Tenacity, everything that the AaronStrong Foundation represents. 

Read more at http://www.beaaronstrong.com/grit-spotlight

I Would Miss You

      

       If you weren’t here and I was alone- I’d miss a thousand things that you do, that you are. Some of the things that I married you for- but other things that I didn’t know until you became my roommate. My forever roommate.

       I would miss the way you live vicariously through music. The high notes that make your head tilt sideways and the crescendos that make you drum your fingers, harmonizing with the men that have already recorded the song in their studio.

       I would miss your daddy-like care for all the animals. They would be hopeless without you and I would have to disperse them to homes. I don’t know how to change the turtles’ filters, and I always sneeze when I pass out hay to the bunnies. I would miss hearing you talk aloud when you pull a handful of hay out of the bag to stuff in their trays. The way you roll your eyes and huff at them to get out of your way as they are hopping anxiously around your ankles- hungry and always impatient. I would miss you peeking out the window over the sink, taking pictures of the bunnies cuddling or Toby sprawled out basking in the sun.

       I would miss the way you drive slower than me- more cautious, with the music hardly turned up past 10. And when you adjust the mirror higher and mutter, “Shorty.” I would miss the few times I have seen you spurt in hostile remarks at the bikers on the road. How you suddenly care about tax-dollars for bike paths when you are tailing an intense road biker- hunched down and oblivious of our car creeping forward.

       I would miss calling you in quick desperation at the grocery store when I forget my pin number to my debit card or at the bank when the ATM doesn’t like me and I can’t seem to figure out how to work the stupid machine. I would miss your watch over all things bill-paying. If you weren’t here I would have to call the mortgage dude and the electric company and figure out the car payment. I wouldn’t know where to start.

       I would miss Saturday mornings with you. How you always have a hankering for pancakes or muffins or eggs and bacon. I am okay with a bowl of cereal like every other day but your stomach knows the extra time warrants a bigger breakfast. Then you skip lunch.

       I would miss your clean shaven, soft face on Wednesdays and Sundays. The way your skin retains your aftershave and my fingers feel its moisture. I would miss rubbing your head in passing, peeking at the neckline knowing it was me who buzzed the back after you gave yourself your monthly haircut. I would miss hearing you call out “Wife” and you hand me the heavy black razor. It is heavy, shaking and I calculate the neckline and slice a clean line across the bottom.  I try to keep it straight but know you’ll never actually see my 30 second handiwork. I would miss the slightly hairy sink and floor for the following days until I clean the bathroom.

       I would miss your overall cleanliness compared to the rascally-brothers I grew up with. Like the way that you fold your shirt immediately instead of tossing it around. Or clean up crumbs right behind me as I eat in the kitchen. Or host an absolutely astounded face when you push the Swiffer around to collect the dust that was hiding in the corners after I have already swept. “That’s amazing!”

       I would miss your short texts. The way you can type a dissertation as a grammarian but then carelessly use “u” and “ur” in text messages. The way you respond “k”. The way you attempt to be enthusiastic and encouraging by adding an exclamation mark. I always smile because I know that while it’s not normal for you, you are making an effort for me.

       I would miss your excellent communication with me. The way we plan for dinner, talk about meeting for events or layout our Saturday agenda. And if I am ever flustered about what to do, I can rely on you to calmly make a logical decision for me. How do you do that so easily? I would miss the way you listen carefully to me and I rarely have to ask for anything twice. Like the time I was driving back from work in Orlando and needed clothes for Ultimate Frisbee. You met me at the park; bag in hand with every single thing I asked for- down to the hair tie and headband.

       Of course with sports, I would miss your t-shirt and shorts-clad self running around with those arms wagging at your side. I would miss passing to you- feeling trust in you as a teammate. I would miss our natural instinct together, how we can score with no look passes or by timing the sprint exactly perfect into the wide open field. The way you shout instructions to me as I run toward the airborn frisbee, “Left!!” and your guidance helps me. I would miss your amazing long-arm shots down the field where the Frisbee floats gently into the hands of the receiver for the touchdown. I would miss the grim look on your face when your team is down and the fierce determination that follows- the way you sprint forward on offense and guard mercilessly on defense. The way you capitalize on a turnover and line up the throw into the end zone for the win. Nothing gets in your way and the only reason I am angry is if you aren’t on my team.

       I would miss your giddy morning face and your dreary evening face. Your smile at my antics and your sarcasm and wit when I walk right into an opportunity for you to tease me. Your laugh. Your big blue eyes that I look into while we talk, still amazed after all these years at the way they shine and glimmer and pair perfectly with your skin tone and hair color.

       I would miss terribly the scent that you create by the mid-afternoon. When your deodorant wears down and pairs with the sweet smell of your skin and light sweat from the day. I would clutch your t-shirts and hang onto the scent as long as it would hang on to me.

       I would miss your hugs after a long day. How reliable you are. How honest you are, even though you bottle things up and I may not really understand how you are feeling. I would miss being one of the only ones you open up to when the time comes. The waiting through the silence and your stone-face, but then the sweet words and conversation we share as you translate your thoughts into words and sentences. I wait. And I listen. And I learn a little bit more of who you are and how I might try and love you better.

       I would so desperately miss your Bible lessons. The way you become Mr. Blabbermouth talking about DTS professors you listened to, articles you read or theology theories floating around. I would miss drilling you with questions to learn about the culture back in Biblical times or the original language. I would miss sitting in the audience under your study. Your powerpoints. Your lessons. Your silly introductions and convicting conclusions. I would miss the distinct privilege of being able to ask you more questions on the car ride home.

You are here with me today and I refuse to take you for granted. I don’t know how long I get you, but all these things and more; If you were gone, I would miss you.

Related: Kevin and Kim: Rewind to the Beginning