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."

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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.