Take care of yourself, Dave.

My stomach has been in knots for almost two weeks now.  Hearing that someone you care about is in the ICU and his kidneys are failing will do that to you.  Even if he has been sick and in pain, you still wish he would just get better and come back to work.

He always had a smile on his face and funny or encouraging word to say. He worked with kids of every age with grace and patience.  Not all the kids got along with him, but they all respected him.  The grown-ups all got along with him.  By now you have noticed that I am speaking in the past tense.  That is because today Dave Ramos was laid to rest.  It was kind of like losing a family member.  We do hard work that requires an extraordinary amount of emotional exertion.  We depend on each other a lot.  Dave could be depended on for whatever was needed.  He didn't ask questions.  He didn't make excuses.  He just got it done.

The same was true of Dave outside of work.  He battled cancer more than once.  You know that saying a lover not a fighter?  Well, Dave was both.  He loved his family, his work, his life.  He had a passion that is rare to find.  And he never gave up.  The cancer was different this time, but Dave wasn't.   He was relentless in his journey.  Those closest to him would tell you his journey has been a success; he is home now.  Dave was a man of undying faith, and although my faith background is different from Dave's, I joined him on his journey.

I sat with my co-workers in more than one prayer gathering.  I never spoke a word out loud.  I listened and I prayed.  I felt such a sense of community and peace in those moments.  This was so interesting to me.  I don't attend synagogue regularly.  I haven't since I was a child.  I appreciate the rituals of my faith, but don't always feel as much connection as I would like.  Dave helped me feel connected to faith.  I will be forever thankful to him for that.  I attended the Celebration of Life service for Dave last night.  For over two hours, we all remembered his life.  He was only here for 37 years, but there was so much to remember.  Not only were there no empty seats, but there was no place left to stand.  Even the lobby was full.  I dare say Dave helped us all connect with faith last night.  We cried, we laughed, we hugged.  Like I said before, we are like a family where I work.

I am not sure that everyone has the pleasure of remembering the exact last interaction they had with Dave.  He left campus for Winter Break and never got to come back for work.  I am lucky enough to know exactly when mine was.  It was not in person.  It was on the phone.  I was carrying our on-call phone the first week of Winter Break.  Dave called Thursday night.  He was supposed to work on Friday.  He called to let me know that he would not be able to come to work because he had just been released from the hospital.  I didn't want to invade his privacy, so I asked something benign and profound like, "What is wrong?".  Brilliant, I know.  Dave replied with something like, "just the same stuff that won't seem to go away".  I assured him that I would let the appropriate people know he would not be at work tomorrow and finished the phone call with, "take care of yourself, Dave".  That was the last thing I ever said to him.  He found out the next day that his cancer was not only back, but back with a vengeance.  He was never able to come back to work.  

About two months after that phone call Dave died.  If I knew that Thursday night that it would be the last time I would talk to Dave, would I have said something different?  I don't really have an answer to that question.  We all have a lot of unanswered questions after something like this happens.  That is what faith is all about.  Believing even though we don't understand.  We do it all day long at work.  Dave showed us how.  He led by example in everything he did.  If I could see Dave now, I think I would just smile and I would choose the same words: take care of yourself, Dave.  

And in conclusion...

Last Tuesday was the 7th annual Speech Contest at work.  I am not sure you have lived until you see a group of emotionally disturbed children, many of whom also have significant cognitive delays, get up in front of a group and give speeches based on what is important to them.  Whether it is family, humor, self-reflection, or a word of thanks, these kids poured their hearts into these speeches.  On any given day, our kids cannot handle frustration, struggle to connect with others, and almost never seem to be able to find the words to explain their inner processes.  Some might say the Speech Contest was an exception.  I look at it a bit differently.  I think times like the Speech Contest just give the kids the opportunity to show off the skills they already possess, but are too often hiding under a pile of misguided thoughts and defense mechanisms.

Any given day at work children can be seen yelling, running around, hitting, cursing, etc.  We have become somewhat desensitized to it.  We even expect it.  What we don't expect is for them to dedicate themselves to something productive and to make a success of themselves.  But we should.  And we should even more after Tuesday.  Those kids have done it already.  Not only did they put their hearts into writing and speaking in order to share their thoughts with all of us, they sat respectfully while other children did so as well.  Every year people are surprised by this behavior.  I think it is because we all forget that they are kids, that they have important things to say, that they are all brilliant in their own ways.  Under all of those attachment injuries and abuse scars, they are just aching to be heard.

So, it is not surprising that they shine when we are listening.  They rise to the occasion.  I just love to watch it happen!  My heartstrings were pulled on several times.  What a great feeling!  These kids have an impact on me.  Possibly a larger one then I have on them most days.

Before I sign off for the night, I just have to tell you about an even more hidden treasure of the Speech Contest.  It happened while the judges were deliberating.  The adults were still there, but they were not providing directives or handing out expectations.  And what were the kids doing?  They were being kids.  They were rushing back and forth to make connections with those in the room who are important to them.  They were messing around with the microphone.  I found such a great sense of happiness in that moment.  Watching them misbehave just a little.  Were they just pretending to know the limits?  I don't think so.

And in conclusion (if I may borrow that phrase from one of the brilliant speeches of that day)...maybe, just maybe, when we treat them like kids, they act like them.