Saturday, September 22, 2012

This is the speech I wrote for the Shale Gas Outrage rally in Philadelphia.  I had to cut a lot out because of time constraints, but this is the whole thing.  It was a great rally, met a bunch of wonderful people with very kind and caring souls. 

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As people skeptical of the gas industry, we are used to bad news. We shake our heads knowingly when we hear about another illegal dumping of frack waste. We scribble pages of statistics as the scientific community publishes newer findings of the dangerous health risks related to horizontal drilling. We pass reports through social networks of semi-truck wrecks, destroyed country roads and explosions. It is very easy to find ourselves in a frack pit of despair, apprehensive that the next article will be the one to finally knock us permanently on our backs.


But there is a less talked about risk in fracking circles. It is an aspect that many ignore. After all, no one is forced to put on a hard hat, just as no one is forced to sign a lease with a gas company. But if the industry can lie to and deceive a land owner, couldn't they just as easily lie to and deceive an employee? Or worse, poison, endanger and threaten them? Even injure or kill them?



On May 1, 2011, my son and his coworkers were hurriedly erecting a drill site in Smyrna, NY.  The site was extremely hazardous.  AWD vehicles were sinking into the mud and ruts were thigh and even waist deep.  Supervisors requested, then demanded, more mats to cover the work area. But the company answered that they were too expensive, and pushed the workers to continue. As a result, Charles E. Bevins III, my sweet, sweet boy, was pinned and crushed between an industrial sized forklift and a building when the weight of the forklift on the unstable ground gave way.



The remote, hidden location which affords so many drilling sites less scrutiny, was not mutually beneficial to my son. The sprint to the Syracuse hospital took over an hour. I'm told the last thing his coworkers heard him say as they loaded him into the ambulance was, "Am I gonna die?" My only son, 23 years old, died repeatedly until the doctor could no longer revive him. My only son, died with no family or friends at his side, to hold him and comfort him. Every night when I go to bed my thoughts are haunted with what his last thoughts must have been...how scared he was...his pain.



When my son's body was brought back home, we buried him on our property after keeping him at home one last night. He went into our soil where he had grown up the last 14 years of his life. We buried him among the trees he had cut and planted, the fences he strung and repaired, while the sheep he trimmed and fed overlooked from the meadow. Our family dogs lay quietly among us as we said goodbye and filled his grave with earth. He was supposed to grow old in the house he helped build, not be buried in the woods a stone's throw from the back door.  Life became observed, not lived.



The corporations he worked for sent flowers, and representatives to his viewing. I found a short paragraph on one of their web sites about sending their condolences and how committed they are to worker safety...this sandwiched between paragraphs about earnings and upcoming events. As far as the news, a local channel did a very short piece acknowledging his death and that there was an ongoing investigation. After many months, OSHA found the companies at fault, and slapped them on the wrist with a whopping $4,900.00 fine.



In the 17 months following the loss of my son, our eyes have been opened to the substantial amount of injuries and deaths caused by this dangerous industry.  We read more and more articles about rig workers injured or killed by electrocutions, explosions, and traffic accidents.  Our research also unveiled the unregulated inhumane hours they are forced to work and the unsafe environment they are subjected to.  After speaking with his co-workers it became apparent that all the regulations in the world would never make drilling safe.  This is an industry known for cutting corners, racing against public opinion, and ignoring scientific evidence. Their blatant disregard of these things will continue to leave environments, communities and especially its workers at risk.


How is it possible we live in a world where an industry can poison and pollute with little repercussions? Where their workers are expendable and a death can be brushed aside as just part of another days work?  How many once complete families will be left incomplete?  

Friday, August 31, 2012

"There's a hole in the world now. In the place where he was, there's now just nothing. A center, like no other, of memory and hope and knowledge and affection which once inhabited this earth is gone. Only a gap remains. A perspective on this world unique in the world which once moved about within this world has been rubbed out. Only a void is left. There's nobody now who saw just what he saw, knows what he knew, remembers what he remembered, loves what he loved. A person, an irreplaceable person, is gone. Never again will anyone inhabit the world the way he did. Questions I have can never now get answers. The world is emptier. My son is gone. Only a hole remains, a void, a gap, never to be filled."

-- Nichola Wolterstorff, Lament for a Son



Thursday, August 30, 2012

From a grieving sister....


"Over the weekend I found myself sitting beside my brothers grave on the family farm. It hit me again, as if I were hearing the news for the first time again...He is gone. Only I wasn't on my hands and knees vomiting on the side of I-66 after trying in vain to get to the hospital in NY from DC. Instead I was sitting on a cast iron bench in the hot sun looking down at a patch of dirt that has sunk an inch lower since he was buried last May. My brother is beneath the ground. He is gone. Forever. From me, from my parents, my siblings and his children. I thought this was supposed to get easier. I was told that the pain would lessen. But I feel his absence more now than I ever have and his absence is apparent everywhere I looked on the farm." -
 
Amanda (Bevins) Barr
 
 
This is one of the hardest things about losing a child....being unable to help, comfort, fix, or make everything better for those who are hurting as much as I am.  Knowing that we all want to be fixed...looking to one another for help but seeing the same pain reflected in each other's eyes.  We all want to feel better, but none of us possess the ability to bandage up the gaping wounds that have been left in our now broken hearts. 
 
 
I heard this tonight while listening to the book (on Audible) "When Bad Things Happen to Good People" by Rabbi Harold S. Kushner.  I pray this will be me in the years to come. 
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There is an old Chinese tale about a woman whose only son died. In her grief, she went to the holy man and asked, "What prayers, what magical incantations do you have to bring my son back to life?"

Instead of sending her away or reasoning with her, he said to her, "Fetch me a mustard seed from a home that has never known sorrow. We will use it to drive the sorrow out of your life." The woman went off at once in search of that magical mustard seed.

She came first to a splendid mansion, knocked at the door, and said, "I am looking for a home that has never known sorrow. Is this such a place? It is very important to me."

They told her, "You've certainly come to the wrong place," and began to describe all the tragic things that recently had befallen them.

The woman said to herself, "Who is better able to help these poor, unfortunate people than I, who have had misfortune of my my own?"

She stayed to comfort them, then went on in search of a home that had never known sorrow. But wherever she turned, in hotels and in other places, she found one tale after another of sadness and misfortune.

The woman became so involved in helping others cope with their sorrows that she eventually let go of her own. She would later come to understand that it was the quest to find the magical mustard seed that drove away her suffering.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

I have been saving things I wrote to add to this blog, and since I have to stay off my feet for a while, this is my chance to finally add them.  This was written in the middle of the night, because I didn't want to forget any of it, it was so vivid in my mind and so real.  A real blessing and comfort, about 1 month before the 1 year anniversary of his death:




April 2, 2012, 3:55 am


I just had the most beautiful vision.

I had just gone to bed, completely worn out.  Once again I stayed up too late working.  I laid down and instantly thought of CJ, which often happens when I'm trying to go to sleep.  Sometimes I have torturous thoughts of the pain he went through as he was dying, or the worry, or what was he thinking in those last moments.  Did he think of us?  Was he crying?  Was he in agony thinking he might not see his children again?  Or was he in denial as we all were, thinking, "This isn't happening!  How can this be my life?  This isn't supposed to happen!"

I closed my eyes, covered my head and cried out, "Please, Maker of the Universe, King of everything and everyone, Almighty, Baruch atah Adonai elohaynu melech ha'olam.  Please take care of my son, tell him I love him and we miss him!  I don't think I can go on any longer without him!!"  Once again my body shook with uncontrollable sobs.

I immediately saw almost like rainbows swirling, then leaves funneling up from the ground in a torrent of wind, and there's CJ, walking along in the woods wearing a kind of rangers hat, but more like something they'd wear in the outback of Australia.  He's wearing shorts, but long socks and work boots, a plain t-shirt, and he's smiling from ear to ear! 

So there he is, plain as day, walking along with a clipboard, leading a bunch of people.  They appear to be from many different countries, possibly other planets, and they're trekking through the woods and brush, and around the edges of a meadow, as he shows them, teaches them, the medicinal purposes of each plant they encounter.  All the time he has a smile on his face, joking, absolutely engulfed in the joy of sharing his knowledge.  He shows them Lemon Yarrow, and Echinacea, and all the comfrey which has taken over parts of the garden. 

But in the vision, it's like I was there too, standing on the edge of the woods watching.  I was looking on as they'd identify and sample the many trees and bushes.  Once in a while he'd look directly at me and smile, like he wanted to come talk to me but he was "on duty."   But he was loving it.   

There I stood watching him live his new "after" life, when he finally came to the edge of the woods and was right there in front of me.  He just said quietly, "Mom, it's OK!!  Everything's gonna be OK!  We'll be together again very soon, it'll feel like a long time to you but it's only a few days here!  We will all have each other again, we'll all be together.  I love you, don't worry!  It's all gonna be OK.  I love you mom."

He rejoined his class, and I just stood there in amazement watching him as he answered questions and jetted back and forth between his "students."  There were these little rivers of swirling rainbow colors, and he would step onto one and ride it almost like an escalator or moving sidewalk, but it was faster and more challenging.  Almost like he was surfing, and he'd whoop it up like, "Wooo-hooo-hooo-hooo" in that goofy crazy way he and Kelsey used to say it.  He'd laugh and smile and ride it for a second, then step off and continue with his hike.  As he walked away, teaching his big class of foreigners, they struggled to follow, almost having to run to keep up with his long, exuberant, joyous steps.  He kept looking back and blowing kisses to me, waving, and laughing....






I am posting a letter I sent to a few state reps at the end of last year, when WV leaders were still grappling with drilling regulations.  As most of you know, the select committee came up with a less than perfect bill, but it was a start and gave surface owners a bit more protection.  Governer Tomblin, however, took it upon himself to write his OWN bill, with the help of the gas industry, which offered LESS protection in many ways than before regulations were even in place!

As naive as I may be, I still wanted to at least give another perspective on the many faceted problems associated with horizontal drilling:





To whom it may concern:

My name is Nancy Bevins.  My husband and I and our 4 children built a small organic farm on 40 acres here in WV.  We raise sheep, chickens and produce for the farmer's market.  I sell handmade items on Etsy which I make from our sheep's wool.  We are also foster parents and have adopted 5 children in addition to our 4.

On May 1st, 2011, my only biological son was killed in a drilling accident in Smyrna, New York.  He was working for a local drilling company, contracted by Norse Energy, to set up a horizontal drilling rig.  Because we have retained a lawyer, we are not able to give a detailed description of his death, but we are convinced that the negligence and unsafe conditions of the site, which the company was aware of, caused the death of our son. 

There is no way to describe the pain and heartache our family is now going through.  Every inch of our land was walked by our son.  The posts which hold up our fences were driven into the ground by him and my husband.  The walls and foundation of our home were crafted by his hands.  Every single day of our lives is now a struggle as we try to make sense of what has beset our family.  Every night, before I go to sleep, I picture him slowly dying as they rushed him to the hospital, scared, without a single loved one at his side.  There are days I do OK, and others in which I can barely get out of bed.

As we deal with the sadness it is more and more becoming entangled with anger.  Before he was killed I began learning about the dangers and environmental consequences that unchecked drilling can reap on the environment.  Although my son loved his coworkers, he worried about the conditions and knew it was extremely dangerous, especially the speed in which they were pushing these young men to set up and drill for gas.  With the sheer number of wells and the inadequate number of inspectors, the remote locations of these sites are mostly unregulated and unchecked.  He was working 15 days on, with only 5 days off, 2 of the 5 in which were spent driving to and from NY.  Most days he worked between 14 and 16 hours, sometimes longer if relief never showed up. 

Before he left for New York the last time, I made him promise me he'd sit down and maybe we could figure out a way to increase production on the farm and other ways he could make a living besides drilling...a few weeks prior he had been injured on the job, a blow to his face by a swinging pipe.  He was only making 13.25 per hour and he hated being away from his family.  He lived with his fiance and 2 small children on our property.

I am sure you are very aware of the environmental impact these drilling companies will have on our precious state, and I am so thankful that some of you are pushing for tougher regulations.  But I decided to write and tell you of our lives so you could be aware that the problems involved with drilling are multifaceted.  I feel there is no safe, humane, and environmentally responsible way to frack.  Young men are being recruited for these dangerous jobs, some just out of high school.  When I talked with my son's co-workers and asked them if they knew what fracking really is, they were misinformed.  When asked what they are putting into the ground, 3 out of the 3 sitting on our couch said "Sand, water, and soap."  Most workers are not even aware of the poisions they are being exposed to daily.  Drug problems are rampant BECAUSE they are forced to work inhumanely long hours.  The companies conveniently turn a blind eye because a working body, to them, is better than no body on the rigs.

We have a well, as I am sure thousands and thousands of other West Virginians do, and we depend on that water for drinking, for our animals, and for our organic produce.  We are unable to get city water, as again I am sure thousands of other West Virginians are unable to also.  Even if we were, the cost of buying it would be crippling for us.  We live in fear that a gas well will go in near our home, and our once pristine water will be contaminated.  Our son is buried here, we just can't pick up and leave.

This is a matter of survival.  This is a matter of unbelievable urgency.  It is impossible to say this without sounding dramatic, but once our water is contaminated, there will be no going back.  And for what?  A few temporary jobs?  Tell that to Texans who still have a higher unemployment rate that WV and many other states...a state which has let oil and gas companies over-run their farms for many years.  A state which, while going through the worse drought since the dust bowl, is still allowing hydro-fracking, which uses between 4 and 8 MILLION gallons of water per well.  This, while crops shrivel up and die for lack of rain.  The situation is nothing short of insanity.

I have attached a picture of our son and his baby, who we are now raising.  Our son was a sweet funny, generous and kind young man, and his children have been robbed of his influence by the greed and irresponsibility of a corporation.  Please don't let this happen to another family.  Please consider the risks these operations are taking not only with the environment, but with human lives.

Sincerely,

Nancy Bevins

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

The Dragonfly.

Probably about 2 weeks after CJ was killed, I began notiflying my Etsy customers that I won't be taking orders for a while, and that those promised would have to wait.  I put my shop on "vacation" mode with an explaination.  I have become "online" friends with many people who follow my creations, and I am forever grateful and appreciative of those people who continue to patronize and collect my silly little animals.  I love creating them, especially new challenges.  But at the beginning of the grieving process I could already tell even the joy I receive from this couldn't overcome the black pit of sorrow I'd fallen into.  I kept my Etsy doors closed but did begin the long process of reading the hundreds of condolence messages sent by admirers, friends, and strangers.

Although all were comforting in many ways, one really touched me deeply.  A thoughtful woman named Becky sent the story of a dragonfly, which I pray you take the time to read, because it is the story of my own little miracle and ray of hope:

Dragonfly Story:

Down below the surface of a quiet pond lived a little colony of water bugs. They were a happy colony, living far away from the sun. For many months they were very busy, scurrying over the soft mud on the bottom of the pond. They did notice that every once in awhile one of their colony seemed to lose interest in going about. Clinging to the stem of a pond lily it gradually moved out of sight and was seen no more.

"Look!" said one of the water bugs to another. "one of our colony is climbing up the lily stalk. Where do you think she is going?" Up, up, up it slowly went. Even as they watched, the water bug disappeared from sight. Its friends waited and waited but it didn't return.

"That's funny!" said one water bug to another. "Wasn't she happy here?" asked a second... "Where do you suppose she went?" wondered a third.

No one h
ad an answer. They were greatly puzzled. Finally one of the water bugs, a leader in the colony, gathered its friends together. "I have an idea. The next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk must promise to come back and tell us where he or she went and why."

"We promise", they said solemnly.

One spring day, not long after, the very water bug who had suggested the plan found himself climbing up the lily stalk. Up, up, up, he went. Before he knew what was happening, he had broken through the surface of the water and fallen onto the broad, green lily pad above.

When he awoke, he looked about with surprise. He couldn't believe what he saw. A startling change had come to his old body. His movement revealed four silver wings and a long tail. Even as he struggled, he felt an impulse to move his wings...The warmth of the sun soon dried the moisture from the new body. He moved his wings again and suddenly found himself up above the water. He had become a dragonfly!!

Swooping and dipping in great curves, he flew through the air. He felt exhilarated in the new atmosphere. By and by the new dragonfly lighted happily on a lily pad to rest. Then it was that he chanced to look below to the bottom of the pond. Why, he was right above his old friends, the water bugs! There they were scurrying around, just as he had been doing some time before.

The dragonfly remembered the promise: "the next one of us who climbs up the lily stalk will come back and tell where he or she went and why." Without thinking, the dragonfly darted down. Suddenly he hit the surface of the water and bounced away. Now that he was a dragonfly, he could no longer go into the water.

"I can't return!" he said in dismay. "At least, I tried. But I can't keep my promise. Even if I could go back, not one of the water bugs would know me in my new body. I guess I'll just have to wait until they become dragonflies too. Then they'll understand what has happened to me, and where I went."

And the dragonfly winged off happily into its wonderful new world of sun and air....


The story blessed me at the time but I was soon busy with life and trying to cope.

About a week later I was in the garden pulling weeds, and was overcome with sadness.  It had been an especially hard day, and my thoughts seemed to drift to CJ every 10 minutes and with it came tears.  I had no ambition.  No will.  I stuck my spade in the dirt, bent my head over and began to wail.  Those who have lost children probably understand.  I cried like a baby with no regard to who heard me or saw me, covering my face with my hands. 

Just then I felt something on my knee.  I opened my eyes, and there, perched on my skin, was a larger than normal dragonfly.  He was facing me, almost like he was studying my face, curiously.  I expected it to speed away when I moved, but it was patient and unafraid.  For over 10 minutes, he sat, scratching his body, cleaning his head, fluttering his wings.  A feeling of peace came over me and I smiled. 

Satisfied, he bent his legs and flew up over the garden and into the woods.  I picked up my spade and continued weeding.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

My Boy

For a very long time now, I have wanted to tell what happened to my son, to tell our story of grief, to explain how losing him has left our family incomplete, but each time I feel like I can't find the right words.  I know that many thousands of other parents have lost a child, or children.  I did not begin this tale to claim that my sorrow is unique, or out of the ordinary.  That losing OUR son has stopped the earth on it's axis and darkened the sun.  That my pain is in some way more severe than that which another mother felt after the death of her infant, or toddler, or teenager, or adult child.

I can only relay to you, my reader, that which I felt, which I feel, which I now know.  That losing my son has brought an irreversible emptiness to my once very full and happy life.  Never again will I sit at our dining room table with all of my offspring surrounding it, laughing at silly remembrances, teasing each other relentlessly, arguing and forgiving,...a family complete.  Never again will I watch my son scoop up his child, lay his head gently on his strong shoulder and stroke his sweaty curls while kissing him on the cheek. 

If, as another grieving parent you have come here to seek out answers, I have none to offer.  There are days when I am strong, rising with determination to turn things around, organize, catch up, conquer.  But more often come days when as I roll from the bed, his face crosses my vision, and I remember, I'm the mother of a dead son.  My son is dead.  He is not coming back.  His body is under the soil in our woods, buried among the trees he climbed, near the fences he tightened, a short walk from the house he helped build. 

But I also didn't begin writing to gain sympathy, or to gain answers of my own.  I have become wise enough to know that only going through the grieving at grieving's pace will get me further down the healing path, though I know a complete recovery is unattainable.  I read once, that losing a child is like losing a leg.  You are bed ridden for a while, but slowly you are able to sit up, then maybe walk a few feet with crutches.  You are fitted with a prosthetic leg...you learn to shuffle, then walk.  Eventually you may even learn to run...but everyday you will be reminded, that your leg is gone,...you will get used to the new "normal"...but it will never be the same.

In 2 days my son would have been 24 years old.  This small corner of the internet will be my present to him, to his memory.  It will also be a gift to anyone who loved him, a place of refuge to cry in private, a place to advance their own grieving process, a place to share and remember.  And to anyone who stumbles across our hiding place, know that my son's death does not solicit sad cliches and typical condolences,...our lives will never be the same....but we can move our paths in ways that just might make a difference, in his name.