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.