It Takes a Toll

It is early 2024 and I will be turning 70 later this year. I can't help but think back to the situations I have been a part of during those years and much of it has been shared in my Biography which was just published. I know that very few of my acquaintances will read that book, simply because most of us have more pressing matters to deal with in our everyday lives. So once again, I am going to share in detail, some events that are either glossed over in the book or not even mentioned.

I was communicating with a few public school friends and neighbours the other day and it reminded me of the first truly traumatic event in my life. In fact, it had an impact on my life from about the age of 6 right into my teen years. That might sound overly dramatic but let me explain. We lived at 185 Glen Park Avenue in Toronto and as with many young children, I had a tricycle . We had no sidewalks on our street and back then, ditches were commonplace so we rode our bikes on the street. That would be unheard of today. On a summer day I was just a few doors down from my home, riding on the street with one of my neighbours. Across the street, an older gentleman was backing up his green VW Beetle. Separating his house from the neighbour was a high hedge which blocked his view of traffic travelling west.

For whatever reason, I was looking at his car as it entered the street and at that very moment a car hit his, causing his vehicle to start spinning. The problem was, that it was spinning toward me on my tricycle. Fortunately it landed in the ditch about 20 feet from me. I still remember looking at our neighbour as he sat in his car, obviously dazed and clearly bleeding from a head wound. I don't remember anything after that.

As I mentioned, this had a long-lasting affect on me that I never told anyone about, partially because I didn't understand that this event was the cause of my ongoing nightmares from that day on. The dreams were very similar each time and it involved the accident that I had witnessed. In my dream however, I was the one who was injured. In the dream I suffered a cut on my neck, much like a slit throat. I would always wake up from my dream at this point, which is probably why I remember them.

In today's society we call things like that and the subsequent aftermath in a person's life, PTSD. Back then and as a child, I had no idea what label to put on it so I told nobody what I was experiencing...for years. Even as I write this, I get the chills so many years later.

Fast forward some 35 years and I was being asked to support friends who were facing the worst day of their lives. For me it started at 11:00pm when I received a phone call from a good mutual friend, police officer and my church elder. I was a pastor at the time and being called when members needed help was part of the job description but this would be something different.

A couple who had recently left our church when they moved north of Toronto had contacted our mutual friend, asking him to phone me. They had two children, the youngest being around 6 months old. Their dad was a cabinet maker and had his workshop in their basement up in Keswick. He was downstairs getting some last minute work done before going to bed and was unaware that his wife had brought the six month old downstairs where he was crawling on the floor. Dad meanwhile had piled 1000 lbs. of partical board on a dolly and as he was maneuvering it around a workbench it caught on a corner and collapsed onto the floor and onto his infant son.

The child was airlifted to Toronto's Sick Kids Hospital and then the phone call to me was made. I was asked to make my way downtown and arrived in a waiting room filled with grand parents, aunts and uncles and two very distraught parents. The mom was in a wheelchair with her legs all bandaged. She had tried to stop the boards from landing on her child but was unsuccessful. As I walked in, I felt all the eyes focus on me, asking without saying anything: help this little boy to live.

The next couple of hours were the most difficult I had faced in my life. We talked and we prayed and all the time trying to reassure a father that this was not his fault and not his wife's fault. Police detectives showed up which only added to the stress because it seemed as if they were going to accuse the parents of something. They went into surgery but we found out that nothing could have been done to save the child's life. By now it was well after midnight and the parents were asked if they wanted to spend an hour with their deceased son. At Sick Kids they wash the baby and wrap them in a nice white blanket for the parents to hold in a small private room. I was the only one they invited in to sit with them.

Wow...even as I write this, tears are welling up in my eyes. It was a private room but it had windows and as the parents sat stoically and no doubt in shock, family members could be seen pacing the hallway, weeping as they did. I kept trying to remind myself that I needed to be strong for the parents but they were the strong ones. After the hour was up, they handed over the child to the nurse and it was time to leave.

As I drove the half hour home, I put on Christian music and basically cried (probably sobbed) the entire way. The reason was simple: I had a daughter almost the same age and I considered what if...it had been her that died that night. I would later become a police chaplain and quickly understood why the toughest calls for most cops were those involving the deaths of children.

Anne and I counselled the couple for almost a year and the time included a regional police helicopter flying over a forested area, looking for the father who they thought might have been suicidal. It caused marriage problems as can be imagined but eventually they found outlets on how to heal. They trusted the Lord.

I should add, that the new pastor of this couple had also lost his own child to a sudden death but when he tried to help by saying "he understood what they were going through", the couple reached out to my wife and I. They didn't want to hear the words, "I know what you are feeling".

As a Police Chaplain with plenty of training in the area of PTSD (PTSI is actually the proper term), I often heard the term "vicarious PTSD". The first two experiences I shared were events I was directly involved in. Then there are the things we hear from first responders who have experienced trauma and usually I heard about it because it either had the potential of causing an Operational Stress Injury or it was already evident. I did go to the scene of a "jumper" but other than every bone in their legs being shattered, the person survived. I went to scenes with deceased bodies. Believe it or not, I handled each of these and other situations fairly well.

There were however other events and discussions that left me struggling just a little more. A good friend who had been an officer for many years, shared how he was first on the scene of a fellow officer who had just been stabbed. He was a Sergeant assigned to a neighbouring division when the call went out that an undercover cop had been injured. Unfortunately, the plaza was incorrectly identified but since he was already on the way, he crossed into the other division and was first on the scene. The officer died literally in his arms.

This was happening in the very early morning hours and my friend ended up both putting up the yellow tape guarding the crime scene and also stood watch to make sure the right people were allowed in. By the time they were finished, several hours had passed.

What happens in cases like this, is that all the officers involved are brought in the next day for debriefs as they deal with a critical incident. The fact it was a colleague that had died, it was all the more important for the officers to share their experiences. It becomes a mental health matter which police services around the world are slowly getting better at addressing.

The only problem for my friend was that he was overlooked because he was in another division. The support team missed the fact that not only was he there but that he was the first one there, witnessing a fellow officer taking his last breaths. It was a terrible oversight and showed that back in the 1990's Toronto Police still had a long way to go in the area of addressing the mental health of their members.

This is where I come into play. I was out on a ride-along with my friend in late 2002, 7 years after the incident I just described. As we sat for dinner in a Swiss Chalet, he begins to share the story and how he had been affected by the events of that evening. It was winter so we were both dressed in heavy winter police coats. When he began to cry, I knew this was something that had troubled him for all these years. He gave me details of exactly where he found the officer on the ground beside his vehicle. This was his debrief, 7 years too late. My friend is a tough guy and yet it had to have affected him all these years. He had also been the colleague of an officer who was murdered in the early 1980's while on duty. It was an event that touched many lives over the years, including a suicide of the supervising officer who couldn't live with the decisions he had made on that day, many years earlier.

In my book I shared the stories of my involvement after the Yonge Street van attack in 2018 where 11 people were killed. I saw and heard every imaginable emotion during the debriefs of the officers first on scene the day after. I remember going to a second division to do the third debrief and having to cross Yonge Street to get there. The street cleaners were busy removing the blood from the sidewalks where the people had been intentionally run over. It was a difficult day for me but imagine how those standing over the dead bodies must have been feeling.

Vicarious PTSD was starting to make more sense to me but I was convinced that I did not have it because I slept well at night. Then there was the murder of a Toronto cop in a Tim Hortons where I was the only chaplain on scene. I got there with a colleague of the murdered cop and we arrived before the forensics unit did. That meant I saw Const. Hong through the window of the Tim Hortons, lying on his back with blood coming out his mouth. Once again, I thought to myself, I am the chaplain and I have to be strong for his colleagues as they looked at his dead body. The only thing I could think of was to put my large body between them and the view they had of their friend. It actually worked but I could not unsee what I saw.

The next day I was at Traffic Services in my capacity as chaplain, being available to anyone that would want to talk. I was even interviewed by Sun Media and remember ending the interview by pointing out, "the hardest thing is that dad is not coming home". A few days later I was at the funeral and once again spending an hour talking to cops from various services but particularly Peel cops, who were first on the scene of the murder.

I write this and my book, partly because it is therapeutic. At least that is what they tell me and what I tell those who share their stories of trauma. I have no idea why God chose me to be involved in all these situations, even as a child. I hope it has made me stronger but at the time it certainly didn't feel that way and in hindsight, it probably did cause some vicarious PTSD. But I am OK!

 

Escaping Communism

I was trying to decide what to call this blog about my mom's departure from Estonia in September of 1944, and came up with, in hindsight, the appropriate title. "Escaping Communism".

The ENGE was a large schooner built in 1899. It had been recommissioned for the sole purpose of assisting Estonians in leaving Estonia as the Russian forces reentered the country. The first time they had come in, as per the pact between Stalin and Hitler, saw Estonian politicians, land owners, academics and others, identified as "enemies of Russia and therefore shipped off to Siberia or simply killed. Germans had gone back on the agreement and kicked the Russians out shortly after the Russian atrocities.

I want to make something very clear in case some are unaware: Hitler and Stalin were both evil to the core. Unfortunately, the Allies saw Stalin as an ally, and that is why Communism was allowed to exist after WW2. By the time they realized what they had permitted to take place, it was too late. For 50 years, Estonians and all of eastern Europe and Russia, lived under Communist rule. Make no mistake about it, those who escaped ahead of the invasion, lived in a freedom that those who remained never experienced for all those years until 1991.

My mother's story is one repeated numerous times so as I write this, I do not want anyone to think that her story is somehow more significant than any other. It is however an example, to me at least, of God's protection and faithfulness. So here is her remarkable story.

On the evening of September 23, 1944, my mom was living with her aunt's family in the very southern part of Hiiumaa. This was one of two island provinces in Estonia, off the western coast of the mainland. Sinaida (Siina) Sinijärv, was working as a nanny for a neighbour when word came that the Russians had started to push the Germans out of mainland Estonia and that they were quickly advancing onto the two islands of Saaremaa and Hiiumaa. Estonians had lived relatively normal lives during the German occupation although some atrocities were still taking place. Every Estonian was aware that the Russians had a different mindset when they invaded in 1940. Their goal was to eliminate the Estonian culture and replace it with Communism. It brought with it certain death to many, including my grandfather and 3 uncles who lived on the other island of Saaremaa. Their only crime was the fact that my grandfather owned 160 acres of land.

On this evening, my mother was approached by the neighbour's husband and asked to take him by horse and buggy to the coast where small and large vessels were preparing to take Estonians to either Sweden, Finland or Germany. Again, remember that Russia was the enemy that had murdered innocent family members and friends. Everywhere else was seen as a place of refuge.

The neighbour made it clear that he would return once the war was over and Estonians were allowed to live in peace. He left behind his wife and children with every intention of being away for only a few months at most. My mother meanwhile, brought nothing along except the clothes she was wearing, which no doubt included a coat on that late September evening. Her plan was to simply drop off the neighbour at the coast and return to her aunt's home.

That is not what happened. As she arrived at the area where people were being taken by smaller boats to the waiting ENGE, my mom heard the voice of her sister Ludmilla. She was already on the schooner, along with their 1 year-old daughter Lii, her husband Harald and their younger brother Meinhard. Everyone, along with Harald's other family members, all encouraged my mother to come with them, something my mom had not even considered. Her concern was typical of how she lived her life: how would the horse get back home safely?

After some convincing and directions on how to release the horse from the buggy, my mom reluctantly boarded the schooner and joined a number of relatives who were already on the ship. Based on several sources, the total number of passengers ranges from 450 to 500. The photo is below.

                                                                                 ENGE

The Baltic Sea at that time of year is seldom calm. I have actually been on the Baltic around this time in a large ferry and we could hear the cars (attached with chains) in the hull of the ship, banging around as we tried to sleep. Even that was a challenge as our beds were like teeter-totters.

As the ENGE was departing Hiiumaa on the morning of September 24th, it sat very low in the water due to the extra weight. At the same time the wind picked up and as the three main sails were hoisted, it in some ways helped to avoid the schooner from bottoming out while still close to shore.

During these few days of escape, several boats of various sizes, were sunk by both the Russians and the Germans. By the Germans, if they thought the refugees were enemies and by the Russians for the simple reason that they were trying to get away from them. These were all unarmed and innocent civilians that had no way to defend themselves. That is the backdrop of what was to happen next with the ENGE.

ENGE was heading to Sweden, which was seen as a "neutral" country during the war. That mattered little to the Germans and Russians as they saw easy targets. At some point not long after leaving the coast of Hiiumaa, someone in the crew shouted "periscope". This is where I believe God gave the captain, Robert Saul, real wisdom. He quickly turned the schooner toward Germany and away from Sweden, therefore indicating to the captain of the German U-boat, that they were allies of the Germans. There are conflicting reports of what actually happened at this point but even the captain's name is known: young captain Verner Sass of U-boat 767.

It seems as if some of the crew from the U-boat may have boarded the ENGE and that even some supplies were provided but only one person had that recollection. Märt Vähi's parents recounted some of these events as did one of the crew by the name of Evald Kask. My mom and cousin told their stories and even others have come forward with little pieces of information. One account was even heard at the funeral of Hedvig Jääger a few years ago. So far I know of at least 15 family or family friends who were on board. We have only discovered about 110 passengers so far but apparently a list was made in case the ENGE was sunk. We are still looking for that list as it is one of the few refugee boats that has not found their passenger list.

The other important details about this schooner and passengers: much of the ENGE was rotting due to age; despite the large numbers, many brought buggies and suitcases full of belongings; this was the last boat leaving Õngu beach and in fact it was so full because some could not get on the second to last boat, called "Hiiu"; at least one male passenger committed suicide (unconfirmed); my uncle's (aunt's husband) sister Hedvig, brought along her Singer sowing machine; my mom found out 7 years later that the horse made it safely home a few days after being released. That is also when her parents found out she was still alive.

By September 26th the ENGE was nearing Sweden but they needed to navigate through the series of small islands that dot the coast of Sweden. Finally a Swedish vessel helped steer them to the small village of Dalarö, close to Stockholm. A day later there was a huge storm that caused many refugee boats to sink. It is believed, had the ENGE been caught in that storm, she would not have made it safely to Sweden. They did however, arrive safely and because of that, I and many others are today living in various parts of the world, thankful to God for the safe passage of our ancestors.

As family read this short account of ENGE, you are invited to share your stories. Be blessed!

Hillar Alkok

Oakville, ON, Canada

About the author:

Hillar was a pastor for 14 years and lived with his wife and three children in Estonia from 2003-2005. He and his wife also spent a week in Estonia in 1987 doing "church related work" while the country was still under Communist rule. Hillar's mom and dad met and married in Sweden before moving to Canada in 1952.

A Day of Trauma

September 11, 2001 was a day that most of us will never forget. It was a day similar to the day JFK was assassinated when I was only 9 years old. On 9/11 I was not home with my wife and three children or on my way to work. I was was in Blantyre, Malawi thousands of miles away. I heard the news on BBC radio just after a church service held under a huge tent with about 3000 participants that had come from several miles away. They had come to listen to a group of Christian leaders speak but on this particular day it had been a man from the Congo that had spoken. The interesting thing is that I usually forget what someone preaches within a few days and sometimes even hours. I know that is a terrible thing to admit, being a former pastor. I remember this sermon even today because it was given as planes were crashing into buildings in NYC.

I became a volunteer chaplain with the Toronto Police a few months after 9/11. Many young men and women became cops and fire fighters and paramedics after 9/11 and as I hear their stories, many did so because of 9/11. It touched many lives but the impact is still being felt not only for families that lost loved ones but for each of us who witnessed the tragic events of that day.

The first police chaplain conference I attended was about a year after 9/11. Our guest speaker was the senior chaplain with the Spokane Police. He had many stories to tell that week because he had been called to NYC in the days following 9/11. He was at Ground Zero for several days trying to bring comfort to first responders and the soldiers that now guarded the surrounding area. He heard stories that were unbearable to listen to, let alone live through. He shared many with us police chaplains and it has stayed with me to this day. Again, I wasn't there so I can only imagine how the trauma of that day affected so many first responders.

So here we were, about 50 police chaplains from across Canada and the US listening to stories and slowly understanding what it meant to stand with those who have suffered trauma. On one of the evenings an outing had been planned by the host police chaplain: we were going to a pub for drinks. Only problem was that our guest and the president of the International Police Chaplains didn't drink so I made a suggestion to them. I knew of a good movie that had come out recently that I had already seen with my wife. My Big Fat Greek Wedding was a movie they hadn't even heard of but they were willing to do anything instead of going to a pub. It was a great night with too much laughter, if that is possible, and many a thank you for the remainder of the week. It was also good for all 3 of us after sitting all day listening to the events of 9/11 and the aftermath.

I tell this story because trauma or as we call it today, PTSD, is very real. For 3 men and especially someone who was at Ground Zero, we needed a distraction and laughter was an excellent one. Yet today temporary distractions are not the answer for those suffering from PTSD. We would all say that nothing can be as bad as 9/11 but is that really true? Today many first responders face traumatic events in their regular jobs that none of us ever have to face. Then just to pile on, the media and special interest groups attack cops for doing their jobs. The pressure is enormous and for some it can bring them to a breaking point.

As a Christian chaplain I realize that many first responders fear us as much as the trauma (maybe a slight exaggeration). Usually a chaplain is simply there to listen and offer solutions that don't include a preach or prayer. That may come at some point but I believe God is interested in restoring people who have suffered trauma. That may come in various forms including psychiatrists and yoga instructors. The truth is, we need to be there for those who are crying out for help. On 9/11 we all experienced some of that but for most of us our feet were never on the ground. First Responders were running to the danger while everyone else was running away from it. That is not just a catchy phrase: it is the truth.

Trauma: What does it look like?

I have written a few posts recently that looked at PTSD and how Chaplains like myself might become part of a team that helps First Responders. This blog however takes a different angle at the issue of trauma because I know we can all face this at times in our lives. I also know that you can suffer from PTSD even if you have never been a First Responder. To make my point, I need to give personal stories that I have lived through with others while in my role as a pastor and chaplain.

Post Traumatic Stress (Disorder) is usually caused after more than one traumatic event in someone's life. There are however cases where just one horrific event can have the same affect. In the news here in Toronto, one of the headlines in our newspapers was the introduction of new legislation that will make it easier for First Responders to get financial aid without jumping through as many hoops with Workmen's Compensation. The thought behind this being that more cops, firefighters and EMS personnel will receive help because PTSD will be seen as a workplace "illness". Not sure I like the word illness but that is what they want to call it. What about the rest of us however? Is it possible for non-First responders to be exposed to events that are just as damaging?

My stories are often dealing with others and their traumas and yet I lived through these with families and individuals each time I was asked to fulfill my role as a pastor and chaplain. This blog is not written so the readers will feel sorry for me. It is written to show that trauma is not the exclusive domain of First Responders and our military.

I am going to begin with an event that scarred me and many others. It is an event that I can't fully tell because the individual that caused the trauma was a young offender. When all was said and done, I had worked with the Children's Aid Society, the Toronto Police, the Attorney General's office, professional therapists and a church community that was betrayed. The betrayal didn't end with the young offender but instead the trauma continued for family, young victims and myself when other church leaders accepted the lies of one of their own. It continued through 8 days of court when the AG's representative, assigned to help young victims in the courtroom instead went and helped 2 families that needed more help in the courtroom than we did. The trial of Paul Bernardo just happened to take place at the same time and the help was for the Mahaffy and French families.

So consider that as a pastor, I was asked to make the pain go away for these parents, children and eventually for the church community. Consider that I could not do it well enough no matter what I did. Consider that other pastors accused me of things based on what the young offender's father was telling people as far away as Europe and South America. Even as I write this I am feeling a bit of tightness in my chest. It was an horrendous few years and added to everything else was the fear that our 2 boys might also have been victims. I truly believe that my personal relationship with Jesus Christ and a wonderful loving wife got me through those couple of years.

To this day I know of things this young offender did that others never heard about. That in itself is difficult but since then I have gone through other traumatic events where I was once again looked upon as the "steading voice" and the one to make "things better". I will talk about those things in a later post but it brings me to what I see as the proverbial "rock and a hard place". As someone like me is looked upon to bring comfort and solutions, who helps me? I did get help through someone that I believe God brought into my life at the very time I was preparing to quit: and I do mean literally quit. This comparison is not meant to lesson what our First Responders face every day but it might help some of you understand where I was. While everyone is finding fault in you and your actions, you feel like you are dying inside while doing absolutely everything you can to help others. Much like our cops that get very little love from media when things look bad and almost no praise for the other 99% of the time when they are putting their lives on the line: often for those who are slamming them.

PTSD should be seen as a something associated with First Responders and Military. What I am pointing out is that others of us have also gone through situations that affect our lives in a less than positive way and yes, cause trauma and even PTSD. As a Christian and as a Chaplain, my other blogs mentioned that there is a resource that most police, fire and EMS are not exposed to when suffering from PTSD or Occupational Stress Injuries (OSI). The spiritual or more specifically the Christian faith perspective has helped millions of people all over the world for centuries. We can't keep ignoring the positive role that Chaplains can have in fighting the symptoms of PTSD. With proper training and years of practical experience, I would consider their insights as being invaluable in helping victims of PTSD.

In my next post I will share a few other traumatic experiences that I was exposed to because of my role as a pastor and chaplain. Perhaps you can come to your own conclusions as to whether exposure to these kinds of events could cause PTSD. I don't think it did for me but they can't help but affect your life.