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."

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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.