Protecting David

I knew from an early age there was something different about David. He was quiet and shy and while not a wall-flower he never joined in the mischief that is typical of young boys. Even as a boy he was less than worldly.

The first time I ever had to stand up for David was when he was 6. I was stationed in Yuma and we had him enrolled in PSR. One day after class I went to pick him up and the teacher asked me very gently "is there something wrong with him? Is he mentally slow?" I asked "why?" and she said because he would not respond to her questions. I answered curtly there was nothing wrong with David. I was hurt and angry because I knew even then that the world would be cruel to him and it would be my mission to protect him from these hurts.

His shyness was routinely an area of trouble at school at St. Lawrence, a small school where a kid like David stood out. David had his friends but one boy in particular, Adam, was his tormentor making David the butt of his jokes and cruelty. Through it all he just smiled that David smile, never betraying any hurt. I ached for him but I knew we could not intercede to every incident.

In the 90s we were very active in our small parish of St. Lawrence the Martyr. The biggest event of the year was the Fall Festival, an event that was cherished by our children as the event of events that was looked forward with great anticipation. In the week before the festival teachers would have to close the classroom blinds to keep distracted eyes from gazing at the rides gathering in the parking lot. Excitedly, kids schemed who they'd hang out with, what they'd eat and what rides they'd go on.

One fall day around 1996 I was working in the kitchen at the church during the festival when one of the ladies came looking for me. We had a bingo game going in the parish hall and it was filled with a couple of hundred people mostly elderly sitting at tables playing. Apparently, a friend of the bingo caller had become visibly intoxicated and was not only being disruptive and rude, he was helping himself to beer from the tap without paying. Having ignored others requests to settle down or leave they summoned me.

I walked up to the caller's table and said firmly "come on buddy let's go, you're outta here". He looked at me in his drunken stupor and said loudly "Get the hell out of here and take your fat ass son with you!". I whipped around flushed with anger as I realized for the first time that David had followed me into the hall. David was 12 at the time and if he had heard what the man said he didn't betray it but my reaction was swift and immediate.

I turned back around and reached across the folding table the man was sitting behind. I grabbed the man by his collar and with one hand unceremoniously pulled him out of his chair and across the table. Then in front of 200 stunned people I dragged him kicking and screaming across the gym to the door; picked him up by the collar and belt and opened the exit door with his head. Once outside I dropped him on the ground near two police officers. The man tried weakly to punch me and I pushed him back on his butt with my foot. The officers quickly escorted the man off the church grounds.

When questioned by police I told them exactly what happened and the police officer told me he'd have done the same thing though they did ask me to take the rest of the night off. The man reportedly wound up at the emergency room (though I doubt he really needed it). I have never been sorry for how I handled that incident and would do it again. David and I never discussed that day in later years but I'm sure it left an impression on him and I know he must have felt protected knowing his father would do anything for him.

At his funeral his cousin Gabe told me a story about David in grade school. He said that my view of David as a push-over was not quite accurate and he told me a story about David and Adam, his tormentor. One day after several years of problems David had finally had enough and at recess he summoned his cousin Gabe and Val Edwin. He told them about what was going on and asked them to take care of Adam once and for all. David did not have a bigger protector than Gabe and nobody loved a scrape more than Gabe. Gabe said David wasn't so much asking a favor as he was acting like a "Don" getting a task done without getting his hands dirty! I loved that image.

Gabe told me that shortly thereafter he and Val made it clear to Adam that leaving David alone for good would be the healthy choice. Apparently Adam got the message because David did not have any more problems after that.

Over the years I know there were other hurtful incidents but David never made an issue of it. When people teased him about his size or shyness and tried to provoke him he just smiled and ignored them. He chose to be above the meanness and pettiness of the world. As a result he had a wide circle of very loyal friends who loved him as he was and for who he was. Each was protective of David and yet I suspect he did not need as much protection as we thought.

Parents protect, it is the most basic of our duties. I feel like I did that and feel good that David felt secure in life. But I learned something from David as well. David taught me that his real strength was his fortitude and his ability to endure and deflect perceived harm and that the things I thought he cared about he didn't. He was loved by those he loved and that's all that mattered. David lived a Christian life.

An Acorn For Dave

It has been nearly five months since David passed away. The reality of his death hangs over our family like an unwelcomed guest. His absence in our lives is as large as his body was in life. We miss his smile, his laugh, his friendship and the calming effect and the balance he brought to our family. His birthday and the approach of Christmas brings these losses even more to the forefront as we confront the hole his death has left . Events, days, celebrations, traditions, moments, memories recalled. We miss David beyond words. We miss him privately and as family and friends.

When people ask me how I’m doing I explain that I don’t have good days or bad days, I’m still at the point of having good and bad “moments”. Our love comes pouring out every day in tears and laughter. It is in the loss of someone that you experience love at its deepest. It is here that you understand the pain of Christ on the cross.

We all mourn David’s passing differently but in sorrow there is so much we can learn from children. In a child there is an uncorrupted and unsoiled belief in God that shows us hope. Jesus said “Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it” Luke 18:16.

AJ’s strength in the face of David’s death has inspired me. That he misses his brother is obvious. It is AJ who coined the phrase “driving cloud cars” and often talks about how David (whom he now calls “Dave”) is with us but invisible. He now proudly sits in David’s spot in the dining room and he routinely “hugs” his brother by holding his arms out in a big circle. These small moments give me hope and direction to be more accepting and trusting in my faith. But sometimes it is in the smallest of gestures that we learn the biggest lessons.

We visit David’s grave nearly every day, me in the morning and Nancy with the kids after school. While his mother and Alex pray AJ usually rolls down the hill above the grave, but he always spends part of the time looking for acorns which are like little jewels to him.

One morning recently I walked up to the grave as I always do and neatly sitting at the foot of the little cross we had placed were three little acorns. That afternoon Nancy and I asked AJ if he had placed them there and he nodded his head and said quietly they were for “Dave”.

We have decided to confront David’s death head-on. We talk about him, we celebrate him, we honor him. Some are quiet and introspective, some are full of tears but we are all full of love for the brother who awaits us in heaven.

An Empty Chair at the Table

When Nancy and I bought the house we are in we bought a large mission-style oak table for the dining room. Rather than anything fancy we chose sturdy and practical because we knew it was going to be the centerpiece of our family’s activities.

The first time we sat around it I assigned seats, oldest to youngest across from one another; David to my left, Andy to my right, Eric next to David, Ali next to Andy, Sophie next to Eric, Alex next to Ali and Nancy at the end. Because it seats eight when AJ was born we had to place his chair at the corner next to Nancy.

At this table we have shared many meals. At this table we have celebrated birthdays, graduations, done homework, conducted business, entertained, made models, carved pumpkins and held our famous Christmas Eve ginger-bread house making contests. We have shared some of our biggest family moments here. There are perhaps hundred perhaps thousands of pictures that revolve around this table.

I have very fond memories of walking in to find David hunched over in his spot feverishly gluing together popsicle sticks or some crazy contraption out of fireworks. The table area in front of his seat is filled with dings and stains.

For the last few years it has been infrequent that we are able to get everyone together for dinner at the same time. Once a staple, the busy lives of a growing family make it impractical but special. So on Thursday when Eric arrived from Webster U. as I was preparing dinner I realized we had everyone home for the first time in a long time.

We cleared the table and I began to pile on food; meatloaf, creamed corn, mashed potatoes, fresh bread. The dining room was filled with the sort of family noise I welcome. In David’s chair sat AJ with his adorable head of curly hair. Once seated we said grace like we have for many years, holding hands. I just smiled as the kids practiced the well honed art of appearing to hold hands while minimizing the amount of actual contact.

After grace, food was passed and the inevitable banter between kids. Eric quickly had Alex near tears as he tortured him over passing the butter until Alex said “please sir may I have the butter!” The entire table erupted in laughter. For 45 minutes we laughed and talked loudly about current and past events. But in my head I kept seeing David to my left. Quietly laughing in the way he did, closing his eyes. “How’s the food David?” I’d ask. ”Good” he’d usually reply.

It was also at this same table that Nancy and I had our last meaningful conversation with David. Just before we left for Arizona we called him to the dining room where Nancy and I were seated. We told him that if anything happened to us he was in charge and that he had to make sure the kids were taken care of and that he was to raise AJ and Alex. He just smiled that big proud David smile and said “ok”.

David loved family meals and although nobody said anything, the tears through our laughter said it all. Our table just isn't the same anymore, it's out of balance and incomplete. Sometimes a person’s true presence is known only through their absence.

God-tough

If there is a trait that defines our extended family it is physical and emotional toughness. We admire toughness, we reward toughness, we expect toughness from ourselves and one another. That has lead to our unofficial family motto “Suck it Up!” a saying often repeated and well known by my kids.

At 12 I fell 20 feet out of a tree and didn’t tell my mom until they had to take me to the hospital the next day. At 17 I played an entire football season with a badly broken thumb that to this day is disfigured as a result. I forever changed the pigment on my left arm from multiple bruises. I considered these a badge of honor.

I’m not sure where I learned this (my dad I assume) but it was a characteristic I honed in the Marines. There is no single word that defines Marines more than that word “tough”.Through many years I practiced and demanded toughness in myself and others. What I learned is you can and are able to push yourself further than you ever thought possible through the most severe adversity. It is what wins battles. Once as a Second Lieutenant I received 3^rddegree burns on both hands in a training accident and never missed a training day. I even debrided my own burns, peeling away dead skin through intense pain just to prove to myself that I was tougher than the injury. I went to war and faced danger, uncertainty, separation and loneliness with strength. I was not and would never show weakness to others.I then transferred this philosophy to my children.

When Eric was 8 he knocked out 3 front teeth and never cried. Andy dislocated his kneecap in a football game and missed 1 game. Ali has broken, dislocated or sprained nearly every limb in cheerleading and you'd hardly know. David faced multiple knee and foot surgeries in his teen years with just the kind of toughness I admired, rarely complaining. Through countless situations it is not only a common refrain from me but it is repeated to one another as a matter of family pride “suck it up!” I thought that it was a noble trait. I thought it would prepare my children for life. Then David’s death changed everything.

He had been sick for at least a week prior to his death that we knew and every time we asked how he felt he’d say “I’ll be fine I just have the flu”. Even when we became concerned he sought to reassure us. As his body went into crisis I believe he just dug into that Lozano bag of mental armor and belief that he would be okay if he just “toughed it out”.

How I wish now he’d been a wimp. How I wish he’d told me he was scared and worried and pleaded for me to take him to the hospital. How my heart breaks that he didn’t know how much trouble he was in.Instead it was “I’ll be okay Dad” as he told me the last time I ever talked to him. He was tough. How I wish I had never heard the word.

Now, I’m no longer tough, at least not in the way I thought I should be. Sorrow has ripped through every fiber of my body and tears fill my day. The pride I used to take as toughness now laughs at me. “You are not so tough” it says and I wholeheartedly agree. But my old prideful toughness is being replaced with a new toughness; humility. Through prayer I ask for God to keep me humble and give me the strength to accept the burden he has given my family as a sacrifice to please God.

With God’s Armor I will prevail in this final battle. Please God make me be the right kind of tough, God-tough.

Metalhead

If you ask anyone who knew David to describe him you would hear such things as “gentle”, “kind”, “selfless” “beautiful smile”. But, “metalhead”? Of the many joys in David’s life music may have been just below family in terms of importance.

David did not just love music; he loved heavy metal music to be exact. Metallica, Ted Nugent, Breaking Benjamin, Hailstorm and Chevelle to name a few. I really never thought about how much joy music brought him until I began to put some of his things away. I was surprised by the number of autographed pictures, posters, guitar picks and CDs I came across. Each of them representing a moment of happiness for David.

Like the movies, David always seemed to be at some concert, often by himself just enjoying the music. He would frequently travel miles just to see a favorite band and never failed to come back without some sort of souvenir.

Since David died I have tried to find ways to feel close to him. Not long ago I found his MP3 player. On this device was every song that was meaningful to David so I had to listen to it. I remembered from a picture of David with a singer that Breaking Benjamin had been one of his favorite bands. Knowing nothing about the band I put the first song on “Shallow Bay”. The music pulsed with crunching guitars. Though not of the same generation as Black Sabbath I recognized in the music the very things I had enjoyed about heavy metal as a teen. My head bobbed and I felt tears coming to my eyes. Then came the refrain…”do you want to f*** with me!?”

The tears stopped and the laughter began and then I realized that perhaps there had been a less innocent side of David that I had probably never looked at. Much of the music David loved had an edge and earthiness to it that contrasted with the way he was as a person. Music was present in David’s life everywhere, in his car, in his room on his computer and his phone. Clearly David loved music for the emotional release it gave him.

I asked David's best friend Nathan about the picture of David and Benjamin Burnley from Breaking Benjamin and it was classic. David had befriended the security guard at the stage door during a Breaking Benjamin concert. Afterwards the guard let him backstage where he wondered around until he found Burnley. They struck up a conversation and Burnley was so taken by David he spent 20 minutes talking to him like an old friend. At the end David asked for a picture with Burnley which is above. This moment became so precious to David his siblings told me it was one he could talk about for hours. David let music say what he could not.

As Nancy and I were talking about David’s MP3 player she told me about a favorite memory she has of David; headphones on, music blasting, eyes closed quietly strumming his air guitar. That is how I want to remember him. Rock on David.

Planting Grass

We were in the reception after the funeral when they actually lowered David’s coffin into the vault. But, I have visited his grave nearly every day for the last two months; sometimes with Nancy, sometimes with the family but mostly alone. Graves are jarring to the senses a jagged mound of dirt in a field of green grass. They are reminders of the newness of loss and the finality of death to our earthly bodies.

As I turn into the parking lot I look for the fresh dirt directly in front of the tree on the hill and I know it’s David. There are no other fresh graves around it. In the early morning cool I walk through the dew to his grave. Rarely do I make it to the grave not already in tears. Weeping has become a big part of my life but not without purpose. It is an outlet for pain that has no words. Here I lay bare my soul and weep as Jesus wept at the grave of Lazarus. Clutching my rosary I pray for David’s soul and I ask David for his intercessions. I ask God to ease our sorrow and comfort us and to carry us in his arms.

The interesting thing of visiting his grave nearly daily is seeing small changes. David was buried in the heat of summer and today we are well into the onset of fall with its coolness and air of change. Last week AJ ran around and collected acorns while Nancy and I prayed. His grave has mostly settled and the flowers from the funeral are long gone. Nancy and I also bought and placed a small cross to mark his grave until we order a headstone. Before we placed it Nancy wrote “Our Angel David” on the back.

Standing at a grave can make you feel helpless. Other than pray there is nothing I can do for David. That’s what parents do, we care for our children. I lost the earthly responsibilities of fatherhood I cherished so much, taking care of David. That is until two weeks ago. I had grown tired of looking at the fresh dirt and decided I was going to plant grass. I didn't care what the rules were or even if there were rules nobody was going to tell me I couldn't.

We bought a rake, grass seed, a watering can and brought a bucket from home. One morning I brought everything to the grave and very carefully raked and leveled the dirt. I plucked the lumps and raked some more. Soon I realized I was preparing this dirt just as I had so many times at the baseball diamond around home plate. It seemed so appropriate given David’s love of the game. I carefully spread and watered the grass seeds. I smiled; I had done something for David and felt a sense of accomplishment.

Today for the first time as I turned the corner into the church parking lot I did not immediately see David’s grave. As I walked up to his grave I could see that the ground was now covered by thousands of blades of new grass. I still wept but this time I also laughed and joked with David. Planting the grass helped me feel useful again and in doing so I was able to feel the first sprouts of healing.

Before the Cross

God has a funny way of talking to us. I wrote this last night totally unaware that today was the feast of the Holy Cross.

"God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life -John 3:16."

_________________________________

It has been six weeks since David's death blew a hole through my soul. The grief still washes over me like an unwelcome and relentless flood. I have been tearful, I have been fearful, I have even been philosophical. I have also plead for God to help this make sense but nothing makes sense. I have shaken my fist at the sky in sorrow and screamed “why God?! Why God did my little boy have to die?!”

No words I can hear will bring me solace because my grief is beyond words. I have no idea how time will take away the pain because I do not miss David less as the days go by but more. We are overwhelmed with the magnitude of his loss. His presence, his laugh, his generosity and kindness but most of all his love. At Mass today I looked at the pew we sat in so many Sundays and pretended I could see him. So important was he to our family that Nancy and I used to say “What would we do without David?” never thinking once we would actually have to answer that question.

But, at my lowest moments (and there are many) I always come back to the Virgin Mary. If anyone knows suffering it is our Blessed Mother. Imagine how Mary felt as she sat at the foot of the Cross as her little boy was crucified and died? I am sure she cried the same tears we have cried and felt the sorrow we are feeling. How then did she find the strength to carry on?

There is faith and then there is faith tested in the fire by sorrow and suffering. Death forces you to get real. No more exalted proclamations, no more good feelings, Death is faith stripped to its roots. In our Blessed Mother we find strength and at the foot of the Cross we find eternal life. God did not create death, God created life.

So Lord, I place myself at the foot of the Cross in the Holy Mass and ask for the grace to accept our suffering with dignity and faith and the promise of eternal life.

David and the Mountain Lion

In a big family it is often hard to build individual moments with your children. But, when David was 12 he and I enjoyed the adventure of a lifetime that has become one of my most precious memories of him.

It was the Fall of 1997 and I decided to take David with me on an antelope and mule deer hunt to Wyoming with my friend Dan Slawski and his son Dan Jr. David had struggled with school so much and worked so hard I decided that perhaps what he needed was a lesson in life outside of the classroom. His beloved teacher Mr. Dickerson was all in favor of it and even helped David prepare for missing a week of classes.

The trip to Wyoming was long but enjoyable as each turn brought new sights and long discussions about history and the movement west. We took turns grossing each other out with farts and laughed at each other’s stupid jokes. I found out that for all his shyness David had quite a sense of humor and enjoyed making people laugh.

During one stop at a truck stop we went into the bathroom. As I was at the urinal I hear David say “Look Dad they sell balloons!” I choked as I looked up and he’s pointing at the condom machine. “Those aren’t balloons David” as I hurried him out of the bathroom. That led to my first “birds and bees” discussion.

After spending the night in Kearney with the Slawskis (who had moved there a couple of years earlier) we headed out for the final leg to Wyoming. In Sydney, Nebraska we stopped at the headquarters of Cabelas the mecca of outdoorsmen. For three hours we walked around and David just stared in awe at the amazing mounts of north American game.

Once in Wyoming David followed me everywhere while we walked mile after mile in pursuit of our game. Since he was not hunting he carried some gear but mostly he just carried a smile. When I spotted the antelope I wanted we climbed a hill and I took my shot with David peering over my shoulder. It was a magical moment.

The real adventure, however, started afterwards. Dan had finished his hunt early and wanted to take his son into Laramie, leaving us without a truck to traverse the vast ranch. Rather than not hunt I opted to take my Ford sedan, which turned out to be a bad idea. Blazing along a ranch road I hit a soft spot and bottomed out, tearing a hole in the radiator. With chewing gum and water from a cooler we were able to limp to a highway and flag down some help. We eventually were towed to the town of Douglas some 40 miles away. There I learned it would be 3 days to get a radiator from Denver.

For the next three days David and I hung out in our motel room. We watched Men In Black three times and laughed every time. We ordered room service and got some awesome hamburgers we liked so much we ordered them every day. I also learned his favorite chips were Sun Chips as we ate bag after bag. But most of all we just hung out and I got to know my son as a young man. The sweetness of his spirit always brought me joy.

Finally the car was fixed and we headed home. We met up with our friends the Slawskis in Kearney and spent the night. At dinner David recounted the adventure and then over pizza announced that he’d seen a mountain lion. In unison we all turned to him in shock and looked to see if he was teasing us, but he was serious. “A mountain lion? Are you sure?” I asked. He then told us breathlessly that as he and I were driving he’d seen one standing on the side of the road. We all looked at each other and stifled our chuckles and nobody had the heart to tell him it was unlikely he’d actually seen one. His sincerity was so endearing we didn’t want to interrupt his happiness. David ate his pizza with a look of contentment that said it all.

He and I would talk about that trip many times over the years and to his death he believed he’d seen a mountain lion and never once did I question him. That trip meant more to us though than the hunt, it represented a defining moment in our lives when I learned what it really means to be a father and he, to be a son.

Barfing the Rainbow

We spend a lot of time talking about how gentle David was or how kind he was but one of the gems about David was how unintentionally funny he was. Over the last month his family and friends have not only shared these stories with one another but have heard many new ones. Each one is a gift from David to help us in a time of sorrow. One such story was related to Andy this past weekend by two friends who played football with David.

When David was a sophomore he went with the Francis Howell football team to their camp at Mizzou. The June camp was famous for heat and mosquitos. Built for comfort, one evening David showed up in the dorms with six big bottles of Gatorade; each one a different flavor. In an effort to hydrate for the next day David began to drink his Gatorade; first one, then a second and then a third. His teammates urged him to stop but David had it in his head that if some was good, more was better. By the morning he had consumed all six bottles...two full gallons of Gatorade.

The next morning David arrived for practice but after only three plays he tapped someone on the shoulder and said he needed to step out, in obvious discomfort. He walked a short distance and proceeded to unceremoneously projectile vomit. But this was no ordinary vomit, it was colored vomit. Miraculously each episode produced a stream of colored liquid; first blue, then green, then red; matching the flavors of Gatorate he'd drank. After a moment one player turned to the others and said with awe "He's barfing a rainbow!". The group erupted in laughter and eventually David joined them.

Years later the story is still retold by that group as one of their favorite memories of high school, one even more cherished now that David is gone. David always had a way of making people laugh and hearing these stories today help keep him close to us and remember that much of his life was bringing happiness to others; intentionally or otherwise. He's still making us laugh.

The Last Picture

I walked out of David’s room to a group of family loudly praying the Divine Mercy chaplet, “David is gone” I said, trying to comprehend the chain of events. Just 72 hours before we thought David had a cold. Just 24 hours before the doctors assured us David would not die. But, now David was dead.

First there was silence, then there was an outpouring of grief from his siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends who were gathered in the hallway. The chaos of the “Code Blue” dissipated as medical staff left rapidly. Nancy and I were ushered out of the room so they could unhook the medical equipment and tubes that seemed to protrude from every point of his body. The stillness in his room pierced my soul. The fight was over.

A few minutes later when they pulled back the curtains there David lay; eyes slightly swollen but otherwise very serene. I wasn't dreaming this, David was gone. Nancy immediately lay her head on his chest and cried uncontrollably for her baby. She looked up at me with eyes pleading to tell her it was a mistake. To tell her that David was ok and would be home soon and take his place back with his family. I put my lips on his cheek because the breathing tube was still in place. I stroked his hair and kissed his cheeks, my tears mixing with the perspiration that still covered his warm face. Through my tears I told David how much I loved him but it was time for him to go home.

Each sibling took a turn with David, some embraced him, others just looked but all cried with a pain so deep it cannot be described. Our youngest AJ looked at David with sadness and concern. Then came his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, even nurses. David was a king in repose.

Because an autopsy was ordered we had four hours with David as we waited for a crew to transport his body to Washington U. Medical School. During that time David was never alone, kept company by the many who loved him. Fr. Jay Alvarez, an Opus Dei priest arrived and anointed David’s body and said prayers for his soul.

As the time drew near for us to leave many came and said their final goodbyes to David. AJ entered the room last and said he wanted to hug David. He approached quietly and put his head on David’s stomach with his arms out as wide as they would go and there he lay without moving for a very long time.

Most of the family were gone when the crew arrived to take David’s body and it was pretty quiet. We asked them to wait outside as we held David and kissed him one last time. As we were leaving Nancy and I decided to take one last picture with David. We held up his enormous hand in ours and held it lovingly for this picture.

The Gunsmith

From the time David was a kid there wasn’t anything he would not take apart. The only problem was there wasn’t much he could put back together either. I lost track of the broken printers, VCRs, computers, toys, tools and appliances that David meticulously took apart in the dining room where they would sit until I threw them in the trash. David had a need to know how things worked because he was intensely curious. I used to tease him that “there’s no money in just taking things apart”.

When David was in second grade he was diagnosed with audio and aural learning disabilities. The experts said he was highly intelligent but would always struggle with processing thoughts into words or putting teacher’s words into actions and struggle he did. Nearly every night you would find David and Nancy at the dining room table as she patiently helped him finish his homework, taking hours with what others would finish quickly. Traditional school would never be easy but David always worked hard and never lost his optimism. He never complained.

After high school David had no idea what he wanted to do so we encouraged him to enroll in the local junior college which he did without much enthusiasm. He got decent grades but after one semester he said he did not want to go back. We wouldn’t force him to go but Nancy and I worried about David finding something that would make him happy in life. We talked about careers but nothing seemed to jump out at him.

David soon got a job as a security guard and for two years spent every day sitting in his car or a guard tower at the Chrysler plant. He was a model employee, never late and very conscientious of his responsibilities. The solitude suited him fine and it gave him a chance to tinker. I lost track of the odd things crafted of tape, glue, cardboard, scrap metal and pieces of scrap wire we would find in the car. They always made me laugh because it was so David.

One day I sat David down and I said “how do you like your job?” and he said he didn’t, it was boring. I said “do you want to be 50 years old still making 8 bucks an hour?” He gave me the David smile and said “no”. I then said it was time for him to find a career and I would get him into any trade he wanted all he needed to do was pick one. But, nothing jumped out at him until the day his grandmother came over with an idea.

David had been around guns since he was a baby and had been hunting since he was old enough to follow me into the fields. One day his grandmother said that she and grandpa wondered why he didn’t become a gunsmith. It combined everything David loved; hunting, guns, tinkering and sitting. I remember the response, it was immediate and heartwarming. David became very excited and asked if I would help him find out how to become a gunsmith. He knew immediately that this is what he was meant to do.

Together we researched gunsmith schools and David selected and was accepted into the Colorado School of Trades in Denver, considered the best gunsmith school in the country. Yet, as excited as David was, he delayed his entry six months when he found out I was going to Iraq again. Always selfless he wanted to spend the last few months with me.

In July 2006, just before I shipped off, his grandfather and I took him to school and set him up in his first apartment. I was anxious because he was so excited by the prospect of becoming a gunsmith I didn’t want him to struggle in school and be disappointed. Nancy told me to relax, David would be fine and rather than struggle he excelled.

I got periodic emails updating me on where they were in the school curriculum; tool making, metal working, stock refinishing, repair. He would send me pictures of his work in school and I was always grateful for his grandparent’s encouragement to pursue gunsmithing. David graduated in October 2007 with an enthusiasm we had not seen before.

I will never forget when he got his first job how proud he was when he sent me his new business card; David Lozano, Gunsmith. David’s work was beautiful and it was clear he not only loved what he did, he was destined to become an artisan. What more could parents want? He had found a vocation that brought him joy.

Snow Angels

David loved the snow. From the time he was a kid until just this past winter he was usually the first out the door dragging along anyone who would go for sledding, building a snowman or an old fashioned snow ball fight. His time in Wisconsin and Colorado were school and work but he called us almost daily with “snow reports” and would regale us with stories of how high the snow was or how cold it was or the dangers of driving through foot deep snow. What I remember most was the site of David coming in exhausted with his younger siblings; wet and laughing.

David also loved making snow angels when he was a kid. He’d lie on his back and flail around with a look of pure joy then step back and look at us with a big smile. When someone dies you won’t remember the big events but the countless ways your lives were intertwined daily; a smile, a laugh, a smell, a place at the dinner table, a favorite phrase, a kiss on the forehead. It is at these moments that you encounter your loss at its greatest. Like a snow angel I can look and see he’s not there but he left an impression and is standing by next to me smiling at his work.

The other morning I was sitting at the computer early in the morning which is my “quiet time”. I heard the stairs creaking and my heart leapt. For just a split second I thought it was David because he was always the first up after me. When I realized it wouldn’t be him I began to cry. He’d always come lumbering down with sleep still in his eyes. We’d talk for just a few seconds before he’d plop on the coach to watch one of his cheesy science fiction shows the other kids would razz him about.

I cherish these brief encounters with my family. Take the time to build and remember these small moments in your lives. Look your family in the eye and say “I love you”, heal wounds, never leave anything for tomorrow, go to church as a family, take a day off and take your kids to the park, take a thousand pictures, give hugs and kisses until people tell you to stop because you’re embarrassing them.

While we usually live in the moment we do not give much thought to death and the fact that we may not get another day. David is gone but we cherish the many memories we have of him and he will live on with and within us. Live every day in such a way that you will never have to utter “I wish I had…” and live each day as if today you are meeting God.

Driving a Cloud

On July 31 Nancy and I lost our 24 year old son David to multi-organ failure of yet undetermined origin. David was the eldest of 7 and a beloved presence in our large family. In life he was quiet and gentle with a heart as big as his body. His sudden death has profoundly changed our lives and lead to an outpouring of grief from the many people our gentle giant touched.

David was close to all his siblings but he had a special bond with his youngest brother "AJ", who was 18 years younger than him. AJ was his shadow and wherever David was AJ was sure to be also. There wasn't anything David would not do for his brother and especially delighted in taking him to the swimming pool, the movies and the park. David was more of a father to AJ than many biological fathers are to their children.

Not long after David died my other sons were discussing going down to the family cabin in the Ozarks to remember their big brother. The "farm" as we call it was David's favorite place on earth. He loved the peace, the solitude and the beauty of our isolated Ozark property. David loved to hunt and trout fish and target shoot, but mostly he loved to be alone there. It was there that he dreamed of opening a gunsmith shop and living. David found joy in nearly everything but it was here that he found complete contentment.

As the boys were discussing the trip AJ said "David is coming with us". The boys looked at him and said with sadness "No he isn't AJ, David is gone" to which AJ answered with certainty, "Yes he is, he'll be driving a cloud".

This blog is dedicated to remembering David and dealing with grief and finding the meaning in the brief life of a beautiful child of God.