The passing of my brother-in-law this week came as a shock to us, even though we all knew it could happen any day. Such incongruity seems unfair somehow; we should be able to prepare ourselves with a little notice, right? Doesn’t seem to work that way.
I’ve thought a lot about Dan and what he means to his friends and family. Based on the outpouring of support from his hundreds of friends, it is obvious that they regard him as a true-blue friend, one who makes them feel special not because he wants something from them, but because he feels he has something to give to them. I’ve never seen the kind of love and loyalty poured out to someone as I have since Dan became ill.
I can only speculate as to precisely what Dan means to his family. I have a pretty good idea what he means to my immediate family. However, the only thing I can write about authoritatively is what he means to me. I’ve tried to put that into words in the last twenty-four hours but I can’t find exactly the right ones to describe it. I recalled that I had written a letter to Dan in the days following his diagnosis on Aug 21, 2007. I wanted to let him know what having him in my life meant to me then. I’m afraid I can’t improve upon what I wrote then, and I want to share it with those who read this blog. Since Darcy and I will be in Ann Arbor on Friday and must miss his funeral, let this be my eulogy to Dan. Here it is in its entirety:
Aug. 25th, 2007
Hey Brother,
I am so sorry to hear the news about your health. I can’t say or do anything that will change anything, except to attempt to put into words what having you in my life means to me.
You’ve been the older brother I never had growing up. Someone to look up to, someone whose accomplishments have been cheered from afar, if not always from within your own earshot. You never failed to make your family proud.
I recall the first time I met you, at Valley West Mall. I remember wondering if anybody could truly be good enough for my sister, but it didn’t take long for you to win us over- all of us. You will remind me that after we bid you farewell, I couldn’t find where I had parked the car. We had to wander around until I remembered where the car was. I was lost that day, and to tell you the truth I’ve been feeling pretty lost this week too.
One time when I was in Des Moines I came to visit you at your work downtown. We went someplace to grab some lunch- I don’t remember where- but what I do remember is thinking that you knew EVERYBODY in downtown Des Moines. And that everyone sure seemed happy to see you. I was proud to be seen with you, as if some of your charisma might rub off on me. It didn’t.
There were certainly times when you embarrassed the heck out of me, too. Like when- before I met Darcy- we’d be in Walmart or some convenience store and you’d randomly try to set me up with whatever girl happened to be at the cash register. Very funny. I’m sure you thought you were helping me out. Thanks buddy.
One time when I lived in Marshalltown you were in town for a softball tournament or something and we played a round of golf together. I’ve always been amazed at how hard you hit the ball. I was impressed that day, as I recall you played pretty well, but you were by far the best I’d ever played with. Still are.
Though not always does the ball fly straight and true. Remember the back nine at Edmundson in Osky when you hit the ball straight into the crapper? Did you get a ruling on that? You probably salvaged par out of that somehow. I played in the same foursome with you several times, but I never ever played the same game as you.
We’ve all laughed about the first time Lisa made a home-cooked meal for you. I don’t remember whether you ate any of that leather-tough steak or not; Lisa says I wolfed it down after she invited me over to “share a meal” with you guys. It may have been bad, but not as bad as what we were cooking in my apartment. You probably chewed it up and swallowed it, smiled and lied through your teeth about how good it was. I doubt you’ve ever lied about much, except to spare the feelings of someone else. That’s part of why we all love you: you help us feel good about ourselves, through kind words and encouragement.
The day you married my sister stands as one of the happiest days of my life. You made my parents both very happy too, as we could all see that Lisa had made a wise choice. I know that mom in particular was beside herself with joy. That was the first day I could officially call you my brother; you’ve never been an in-law to me.
I’ve been inspired by things you’ve done that have made a huge impact on my own life. When I saw that FedEx was a pretty good gig, you encouraged me to pursue it for myself, though I know your wife had some grave reservations about my record of punctuality. It has been a good career for me, as it was for you too, but the time came for you to pursue other opportunities and you moved on to the next chapter. That too inspired me, for I don’t know if I would have had the gumption to decide to return to school without having watched you make the leap first.
The time we all went fishing in Canada will stand as one of the high points of my life. That was a lot of fun, even if the boat was way too crowded. It’s a wonder nobody got knocked overboard! Those shore lunches sure tasted good, and it was a real kick just being out there. The only time I’ve ever seen a Customs agent smile was when we crossed into Canada, and when he asked some question about what was in the back of the Jeep, you made some disparaging remark about Roger and I- I still don’t know what you said, but I was pleased no guns were drawn. The most amazing thing I’ve ever seen while fishing- apart from the time I caught that snake at Lake Keomah- was in Canada when you had something on your line, and you said “I think I’ve got a crawdad on the line.” Sure enough, you did, and how you could tell that’s what was moving your line is beyond me.
When Darcy was pregnant with Connor, we talked at great length about what kind of parents we wanted to be. As is often the case, I imagine, we discussed how we would handle different aspects of child rearing, and of course we disagreed on a number of things. The one thing upon which we instantly agreed was in response to this question: if we could be as good a parents as any one we know, who would we be like? Dan & Lisa. Next question?
The measure of any tree is the quality of the fruit it bears. By that measure, you guys score extremely well. I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know when I say that you’ve got a pair of first-rate kids in Brette and Blake, and that of course doesn’t happen by accident. For most of us, unless we win the Nobel Prize or something, our most important legacy is our children, for they are the most likely part of our lives to survive well beyond our own years. Rest assured that your legacy is in pretty good shape. Well done!
As I’ve spent time this last week thinking about you and what your friendship has meant to me, I couldn’t help but focus on something that must strike all who’ve thought of this as the cruelest of coincidences. I know you’ve worn number 4 on the back of your jersey for as long as I’ve known you, and for a long time before that. As you well know, that is also Lou Gehrig’s number- the first to ever wear it and the first number ever retired in Major League Baseball. What people remember about him is his will to continue through adversity, first during those 2,130 straight games he played, and then as he fought against ALS.
From what I understand, the most important thing you can do is remain positive in your outlook. As tough as that sounds, I’m certain you’re up to it. Pray for a miracle. A preacher at a mega-church in Grand Rapids, Ed Dobson was diagnosed with ALS 7 or 8 years ago. I heard him say a couple years ago, “Every day I ask God for a miracle. Whenever I meet him in heaven, I’ll know then his answer was no. Until then, I assume he’s considering it.” He still spends his days traveling around the country speaking to groups, raising awareness of ALS, and spreading the Gospel of Christ. Pray for a miracle every day. We are, and so are several hundred of our closest friends, in churches all across West Michigan, in Florida, Texas, in Ireland, and in places we don’t even know about. Maintain hope; hope is never wasted. It can see you through the dark days, and make the sunny ones even brighter.
Dan, the way you have lived your life for the last 40+ years has netted you an enormous group of friends who will do anything they can to help. Take advantage of them. Both you and they (us) will feel better. Remember that you have been there for us in the past, and now it’s our turn to help. Nobody offers it out of obligation, but rather out of love and admiration.
So, Brother, we’ll see you when we come back in October. West Michigan is pulling for you. Hope is never wasted.
Love,
Blaine
Dan is a devoted husband, father, brother, son, and friend. We miss him already. We know that he is in heaven today, that his legs are once again strong, his grip sure, and his words crisp and kind, as always. Our loss is The Lord’s gain, and when we meet again someday I will say to him, “Well done, Brother.”
