Dahlgren’s stickhandling music to his parents’ ears
The sound fills the Dahlgren house, persistent, almost annoying and sweeter than words can express.
It’s Kaleb Dahlgren, with an old composite Sher-Wood hockey stick, no tape on the blade, stickhandling a little plastic ball around the home.
“Click, click, click, click, click, click, click, click,” says his father Mark, replicating that sound the best way he can.
“It used to drive me nuts, but now I just love it. It is the best sound I could ever hear. That’s what he does; he does it all the time. It’s so nice to have that.”
Just over a month ago, Dahlgren sat in a Nipawin-bound bus with his Humboldt Broncos teammates. They ’d just finished laughing their way through a bit of friendly trash talk. Dahlgren had pulled on some headphones and was getting into hockey mode when everything went black.
In a matter of seconds, he was surrounded by the bodies of deceased friends, torn metal and plastic. He remembers nothing.
Sixteen of the 29 people on that bus died following the April 6 crash at the corner of highways 35 and 335 when a semi collided with the Broncos’ bus. Dahlgren somehow beat the odds. When his parents saw him that evening — after thinking, for a few horrific hours, that he was dead — there was a marking on his left temple, near the eye. That marking was a number, then a letter: 5C. It was embedded in his face like a branding.
The number 5C, they know, is either a seat or overhead compartment number and it’s evidence that he “flew” — to use his word — from his spot near the back of the bus to near the front of the bus, across 14 seats or so, where those letters pushed into his face.
That flying boy on the bus still wants to play hockey, which is why he picked that stick up shortly after getting home from the hospital April 27 and resumed an old habit. Click, click, click, click, click. “I’m trying to work on my hands,” Dahlgren says.
“Ever since I was two years old, I’ve said to my dad, ‘I want to play hockey for the rest of my life.’ Then when I was five, I said the same thing and I’m still saying the same thing now. It hasn’t changed. I’ve just had a passion for it. I love the game. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Dahlgren has Type 1 diabetes. He’s lived his life with self-administered needle pokes and constant monitoring of blood-sugar levels. He requested a trade from the Notre Dame Hounds this past off-season, so he could move into a larger community and start a program called “Dahlgren’s Diabeauties,” which supports kids with the disease.
He carries a sunny, positive attitude everywhere he goes and teammates don’t recall ever hearing him swear. He makes sure his social-media channels are clean and positive.
So it was jarring on the night of that accident for his parents to speak with him for the first time, to hear the first words out of his mouth — after being warned, a few minutes prior, that he “was ornery.
“We said ‘We’re here.’ And he said, ‘My head. My effing head. Fix my effing head.’ That was pretty much his first words,” says Mark. “I wish it could be ‘Hi, I love you,’ or something, but he was in lots of pain.”
Dahlgren’s brain was damaged and it changed his personality for a few days — he swore a lot and remembers none of it. His face had a “flat affect,” which means it was emotionless, and he wouldn’t open his eyes those first three or four days. He has pictures with various celebrities who stopped by, visits he doesn’t remember, with that stolid, unsmiling face.
Dahlgren suffered a skull fracture and a puncture wound, where something pushed into — but not through — his skull. There was the brain injury and two fractured cervical vertebrae and three cracks. A couple of weeks later, doctors discovered that he also had four fractured vertebrae in his back.
But he’s walking around fine and his brain functions well. He rehabs daily, working his body as hard as he can, rebuilding muscle and finding new health.
And he’s home, click-click-clicking with that stick and ball.
“It felt really good to have him home, to be able to hold him,” Mark said. “He’s warm and he gives good hugs and I tell him I love him. He’s probably sick of me telling him, but I tell him every day how thankful we are that he’s still with us and that we can still hug him. When he was in the hospital, he was snoring and it was music, man — the snoring was music to my ears.”
Dahlgren wants to thank people because he’s felt their concerns and their best wishes in a big way. He thanks the Broncos and his teammates and Saskatchewan and the world.
“What I’ve learned is that our world is a great place and that we all can support each other if we want to,” Dahlgren said.
“I’m really thankful for all the support. And I’ve also learned that I am strong and I am able to fight through adversity. When life gives you a curveball, you just try to hit it and that’s what I’m doing right now. Focusing on the positive has helped me tremendously. I want to live the rest of my life for those people in that accident.”