Quiet Strength (31 page)

“Hug them every chance you get. And for you kids—I know there are a number of you here today who are thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—maybe your parents are starting to seem a little old-fashioned, and maybe they won’t let you do some of the things you want to do. Just know, when that happens, that they still love you and care about you very much. And those old-fashioned things will start making sense pretty soon.”

I turned toward the Colts and addressed them again, as well as the other players who had attended.

“You are some great guys; you really are. Our guys don’t always get great publicity for the tremendous things they do, while one negative thing will be replayed over and over and over. But I want to tell everybody here that these guys are the greatest role models we have in our country today. Continue being who you are, because our young people need to hear from you. If anything, be bolder in who you are, because our boys are getting a lot of wrong messages today about what it means to be a man in this world, about how they should act and talk and dress and treat people. They aren’t always getting the right message, but you guys have the right message, and you live it, and we need you to continue to do that.”

I finished my words with one final thought. “The last and most important thing I want to leave you with is this. Despite my having shed a few tears here, this is really a celebration in the midst of tragedy. When Jamie was five years old, he accepted Christ as his Savior. When Lauren and I would talk to him about his identity, about who he was and who he wanted to become, that was one thing that we could tell him for sure, for certain—that his identity was in Christ. The apostle Paul wrote that nothing can ever separate us from the love of God that’s in Christ Jesus.”

Just as Jamie and I had talked about that day in training camp in 1995 when he thought he saw Vencie Glenn, what’s important is not the uniform or the number, and it’s not what team you play for or whether anyone else sees your value; it’s who you are inside. And when you’re in Christ, that’s never going to change.

“That’s why we have joy today,” I said. “We know that while we had him for eighteen short years, God has him now. And He will have Jamie forever.”

It meant so much to us to have so many attend that day, role models such as Jeff Saturday and Reggie Wayne and Marvin Harrison from the Colts. And Tampa’s Warrick Dunn, who buys homes for single mothers, and Derrick Brooks, who had asked Lauren and me to accompany him to Africa with a group of kids from the Boys & Girls Clubs. These guys all get it. They had all had a positive effect on my boys, and I thanked them for it.

Lovie Smith, Denny Green, and Herm Edwards were also there, leaving their teams’ preparation to their assistants. I still don’t know how Herm was able to get there on Tuesday morning after the Jets played on Monday night. But I knew that somehow my dear friend would be there for me, and he was.

The Buccaneers had chartered a bus for people who came from One Buc—people I’d worked with, as well as staff members and coaches I’d never met.

We rode on the Colts buses as we left the celebration and headed to the cemetery. All along the way, cars had pulled to the sides of the road. People stood beside their cars, waving and holding up signs about Jamie and us. I was stunned. It was as if someone had made an announcement letting the entire city know which route we would be taking.

My players marveled over it too. Edgerrin James turned to me and grinned. “Coach, you’re big time to this city.”

“No, Edge. Tampa is big time to
me
.”

The next decision for me was when I should return to Indianapolis and go back to work. Jim Irsay and Bill Polian both told me to feel free to take the rest of the season off. They wanted me to make sure that Lauren and the kids would be okay. Lauren and I were grateful for this support from the Colts management. We talked it over, and we decided I should go back to work.

As painful as it was, we needed to move forward—getting back into our routine was important. Lauren knew me well. Work would help take my mind off my own pain. But I wanted to make sure that Lauren and the kids were as emotionally stable as possible under the circumstances.

We talked about the way this situation had forced us to practice what we preach. I had counseled so many players and others throughout the years, and now it was time to follow my own advice. These were certainly tough times, but our family couldn’t quit living just because times were tough. Lauren and I knew our only option was to trust God and let Him lead us through the pain. Even though we didn’t understand why Jamie had taken his life, our job was to persevere and continue to follow the Lord no matter what.

The Colts were surviving without me; Jim Caldwell had been running the team in my absence. They didn’t need me, but I needed them. I thought back to the messages I had been giving for years. Times will get tough. God doesn’t promise that once we accept Jesus as Lord and Savior we’ll be protected from harm and pain and stress. But He does promise that He’ll be there to lean on during those times. I thought it critical that, during this time of my own staggering loss, everyone watching our team see me live out those lessons rather than quit when times were tough.

I returned to work that Thursday. Jim Caldwell called a team meeting to announce that he was handing the reins back to me. Emotions ran high—the guys were extremely warm and welcoming, and I was overwhelmed by their love and support. As a group, we had always leaned on each other in difficult times; I needed them now more than ever.

Two days later, we played Arizona in the last game of the season. We were now 13–2, and like that Tampa-Philadelphia game at the end of the 2001 season, the game didn’t mean anything in the standings. Our playoff position had already been decided three weeks earlier.

As we prepared for the pregame introductions, I was concerned. Unlike that night in Tampa in 2003, when I worried how the fans would respond, this time I was worried about how
I
would hold up. When I was introduced, the sound in the stadium was deafening. It was all I could do to keep from crying. I found the fans’ outpouring of support and love to be extremely healing for me.

As we had in the previous game, we rested most of our starters, and our young players gave a tremendous effort. The game came down to the final play. We were leading by four points with the Cardinals at our one yard line on fourth down. They tried a quarterback sneak, and the official signaled a touchdown. Our players thought the quarterback had fumbled before he crossed the goal line—and that we had recovered the ball. Since there was no time left, it would be up to instant replay to decide the game.

The referee, Ron Winter, returned to the field after looking at the video monitor. He began to explain that the ball had come loose, and—

The crowd erupted as the referee overturned the touchdown. We had won the most meaningless—yet at that particular moment in my life, the most incredibly meaningful—game of the season. One of our defensive players, Mike Doss, handed me the game ball, and we exited the field to a very emotional locker room. Even though we hadn’t needed to win the game, the players had wanted to win it for me and my family. It was great for me to be back with them.

We didn’t play the next week because we had a first-round bye in the playoffs. I tried to stay busy, but it was tough. I gave the coaches some time off, but that left me with more time to think about Jamie.

How ironic,
I thought.
Here I am, a spokesman for the All Pro Dad program, helping others be better parents, and my child took his own life.
I figured this would wipe out any credibility I might have had.

But then cards and letters started to roll in again. Many who wrote were parents who had been there, who had felt the same pain, loss, grief, and hopelessness I was feeling. Parents who, like us, were retracing their every step, trying to figure out what went wrong and what they could have done differently. I could tell their letters had been written from the deepest parts of very scarred hearts.

I used to think that teenage suicide was rare because it hadn’t touched many people close to me. The fact is, teenage suicide is all too common. Sadly, those cards and letters we received were just the tip of an iceberg of grieving families who have lived through this. I realized that our young people are hurting—some so deeply that they’re dying.

According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, over the last four decades suicide rates have tripled for young men and doubled for young women. In 2005, 17 percent of high school kids seriously considered suicide. These kids don’t necessarily have bad parents. Their thoughts of suicide can’t all be explained. Bad things happen in life. Depression happens. All kids are susceptible. African Americans and whites. Hispanics and Native Americans. Kids living with two parents, one parent, or no parents. Those who have turned their lives over to Christ and those who haven’t. No one is immune.

Jamie’s death will never make sense to me, and the pain of losing him will never go away. But in the midst of it all, I truly believe that hope is available to
all
of us—for joy in today and peace in the certainty that heaven’s glory awaits us.

People often ask Lauren and me how we made it through something like the death of our son. Everyone is different, but for me, focusing on the things I knew to be true helped me find the path to recovery. First, I focused on my faith. Two years earlier, former Tampa Bay quarterback Trent Dilfer’s five-year-old son, Trevin, had died. I clearly remember calling Trent and telling him that we were praying for him and that I appreciated his witness and the strength of his faith. Trent and I had been through a lot of ups and downs together, and when Trevin died, Trent was such an encouragement to me. I told him I was certain I wouldn’t be able to handle the death of a child with the kind of grace and courage Trent had shown. His answer was immediate and direct.

“You could, Coach, if you had to. The Lord will give you the strength
at that time
to go through it, because you can’t do it alone.”

When Jamie died, I realized that Trent had been right. God’s strength
is
sufficient. I would need to continue to rely on God’s strength in the days, weeks, and months to follow. As Trent had done for me, I wanted to pass this encouragement on to someone else who might need it someday.

Moreover, I had always said that football was my job but that it was not the most important thing in my life. Jamie’s death had reinforced that. Now I would learn if my faith and my ideals would hold up when put to the test. Over the years, many of my players had faced tragedies—their parents or siblings had died, or they were grieving over miscarriages or caring for sick children.

I had always said that trusting in the Lord was the answer. Now, facing my own tragedy, I knew I needed to accept the truth that God’s love and power
were
sufficient. If I really believed it, I needed to use this personal and painful time to validate that belief. God would work for the good of those who love Him, even if we didn’t understand how He was going to do it.

In those days following Jamie’s death, I found great encouragement in the Old Testament story of Job.

Job was a godly man who was beset by a string of hardships that seemed to come for no reason. Some of Job’s friends offered trite and unhelpful answers, but God let them know that they didn’t—and couldn’t—understand His ways. In essence, God is God, and we are not. God’s ways are beyond our comprehension and our ideas of “fairness.” He can see the entire picture even when we cannot. As Job grew into a deeper understanding of God, he trusted God enough to lean back into His everlasting arms.

Why do bad things happen? I don’t know. Why did Jamie die? I don’t know. But I do know that God has the answers, I know He loves me, and I know He has a plan—whether it makes sense to me or not. Rather than asking
why,
I’m asking
what.
What can I learn from this? What can I do for God’s glory and to help others?

I’m definitely my father’s son—his influence guided me through those days. I had two choices: I could either vent at God or I could try to determine where to go from here. I knew I needed to figure out what good was supposed to come of this, even if it was still painful.

We had buried both of my parents not long before Jamie’s death. Their deaths were traumatic for me but not totally unexpected. Sons and daughters, in their lifetimes, often bury their parents—but shouldn’t have to bury their children. Again, those cards and letters from people dealing with the same issues I was facing poured in. People heard about our situation through the media coverage, but I was hearing from people who were going through the same thing we were but without the encouragement and support we were receiving. I’ve since written notes to grieving parents and visited those who are down.

In an effort to bring some good out of this, I have tried to assist others, to encourage people the way Trent Dilfer encouraged me. We began by donating Jamie’s organs. Today two people can see, thanks to his corneas. A businessman wrote me after the funeral to tell me he’s working less in order to spend more time with his son. A young girl wrote a letter to us, saying that although she’s always attended church, she dedicated her life to Christ after watching our family at Jamie’s homegoing service.

One worried father asked me to call his son, who he thought might be contemplating taking his life. We spoke several times over the next few weeks. “Why are you taking the time to call
me
?” the son finally asked.

“Because if someone had been able to help my son with a phone call, I hope they would have taken the time.”

His dad called me later to thank me for helping his son get through that tough time. I was happy to know that our experience, as unbearable as it was, had actually helped another family.

That’s the answer, I think. It’s the best I can figure out at this time, anyway. God’s grace is all I need; His power works best in my weakness, as 2 Corinthians 12:9 says. We live in a lost and hurting world, and God wants us to get beyond ourselves, whether it’s to help hurting kids or grieving parents or artistic inmates or striving fathers. I’m not doing anything extraordinary. I’m just trying to do the ordinary things—as directed by God—well.