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.

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.