Sunday, July 5, 2015

An Unexpected Guest Post

So, Lisa left for the afternoon and forgot to log out of her computer.  Not a good idea, dear - you never know who might take over your machine and hijack your blog.


Hey, it's Lisa's DH Dan, with a few things to say while the "cat" is away.

A Curious Grace
by Dan Davis

live-your-dreams-my-dream-is-23986887-1600-1200.jpg (1600×1200)God has, on a couple of occasions, blessed me with a most unusual and horrifying grace.

Lying in bed at about 4am, sometime after REM sleep but before being conscious that morning is near, I dream that, during the night, Lisa has passed away in her sleep.

As the nightmare unfolds, I pass through the natural phases of disbelief, anger and fear unnaturally quickly and move straight into loneliness and regret.  I'm consumed by regret.

My thoughts, of course, are of Lisa, beginning as something of a eulogy and slowly transforming into pure lamentation.  They go something like this:

"Oh, Lisa, my Lisa.  You've left so soon.  I never even said "Goodbye".  Did I even say "I love you"?  Not just the words, but did I REALLY say "I love you"?

You were one of the greatest of God's creatures.  You gave everything of yourself, ran the Good Race to exhaustion, and never quit racing, no matter the odds.  You stood behind me even when I didn't deserve it, gave to us all even when you had no more to give, and crossed the finish line of life with your last ounce of strength.

God Judges us in large part, as parents, according to the moral and spiritual fiber of our children.  And while our girls and little boys are still "baking in the oven" (at least to a degree), we have four older boys upon which the Good Judge can pass judgment.

And on that score, you'll go right to the front of the line in Heaven. 

Your strength of character and unswerving commitment to duty produced a Captain in the Marine Corps.

Your love of fun and speaking the truth produced a professional broadcaster and DJ.

Your simple and deep faith produced a Seminarian.

And your overall awesomeness produced a "Mini-Me" with a wonderful heart and limitless potential.

Words fail me as I try to describe how proud I am of you.


Your giant heart and love of Truth made you a magnet for the next generation.  Not only do our children esteem you more and more as years go by and they better understand your wisdom and compassion, but their friends see that same wisdom, that same love, that same passion, that same purity of heart and call you "mom".  You had a wonderful heart and they knew it.  Children know these things.  Adults often forget.

Your blog produced a worldwide audience of religious and lay readers alike.  It not only chronicled our family's journey through this life, but chronicled how to live our Faith in the real world.  If God asks you for a resume at your Judgment, give him the URL.

Your charity and willingness to open our home to others knew no boundaries.  

And your devotion to promoting and supporting our beloved priests, nuns and seminarians was an inspiration.  I'll pray that the Church Triumphant organizes a "Thank you Bomb" for you to match the one you organized for our religious.

But perhaps most of all, I owe everything I am as a Catholic, and much of who I am as an adult, to your persistence and patience as a wife, partner and friend.

Why did I never say these things to you?  Why did it take your dying for them to come to the front of my thoughts?  Why did the words of praise and cherishing sit and die on my tongue rather than making their way to your ever-deserving ears?

Why did I let even one minute with you go uncherished, much less most of our 28 years together?

I'll never get another chance.  Never get another chance."

And as I start to awake from the dream, I realize it's a dream and am filled with relief.  And what do I do?  As a typical thick, obtuse male (as Lisa likes to call us), I might snuggle up with her.  I might get up and make her some coffee, or perhaps even start some breakfast.

But the words never come.  The words were the point of the exercise, I believe.  But they never come.

Not this time

Lisa, I love you.  You are truly the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, a light in the darkness, my source of inspiration, a hand of friendship on a lonely day.

Lisa, I want nothing more than to make your heart sing.

Time grows short.  We may have 50 years left together, but even then, time grows short.  And I've frittered away too much of it already.

Let's take a walk down the street and talk about happy things, so your heart can sing Coldplay.

Let's read a book to the children, so your heart can sing Mozart.

Let's rock each other to sleep, so your heart can sing a lullaby.

And let's go out and see a hockey game from time to time, so your heart can sing some classic rock.  There's a time and a place for everything.

Joy is the greatest gift we can give each other, and I pledge myself to give it to you without fail, as long as we both shall live.

You're worth it.  You've always been worth it.


3 comments:

Lisa said...

There's a little zipper pocket in my heart where I will keep this forever, Dan. I love you. (But, ya know. These people of ours are a joint venture -- and I believe your influence has been the most important. Look out; when you least expect it, there will be a blog post to that effect. Stay tuned.)

Natalie said...

Awe! You really know how to sweep a lady off her feet. ❤️

Anonymous said...

Ya... I've got the best parents ever... we are epicly spoiled! God is good