In college I lived with four other confident, athletic guys who were all taken aback the first time Dan rolled into our driveway on his Harley. First is was the deep rumbling sound. A peek through the blinds. "Who is that?" my roommate ask.
"It must be Dan" I responded.
"That's Christe's Dad'?
Dan seemed to relish a bit in those moments, a large man, shaved head, leather, and a Harley. The truth is, to me, he was just a guy who enjoyed the simpler things in life. Fishing. Food. Camping. Drinking. I didn't have the history Christe had.
I remember the night he showed up at our house with his first batch of home-brew. "Not bad huh!" I didn't have the heart to tell him. "I didn't have wine yeast, so I just used bread yeast." I choked down two and a half glasses of this light pink liquid that smelled like bread but tasted like it could lift paint from my Lancer. I can't describe the punishment my head went through the following day. He was just so proud.
We still have one steak of Bluefin Tuna in the freezer from a deep sea fishing trip he took right before he died. That was one year ago tonight.
I left the funeral disappointed, it was just so sad, outside of Paul (Christe's brother), did any of these people really know Dan? Who was there to talk about him as a person, faults and all? The guy who bought his grandkids boxes of toys for Christmas and just laughed and laughed about how each and every one of them made noise and took batteries. Dan had a great laugh. Who was there to talk about his struggles with believing in God? "I tell you," he'd say to me, usually after a couple drinks, "I want to, I wish I could, I envy what you have, I just can't...and if I'm wrong, it's not going to be good for me".
This is the guy who, at the age of 16, would take his younger siblings to Mormon Temple despite his parents leaving the church. That continued until his Bishop told Dan he could return when he cut his hair. Dan couldn't seem to figure what hair had to do with salvation and pointed the the painting of Jesus hanging on the Bishops wall, long hair and all. Needless to say, he didn't return.
Dan was tormented. In a tug-of-war between self gratification and doing good, the former winning most of the time. Yet he would talk about this organization who provided glasses to kids in impoverished countries, literally bringing sight to the blind, and how he would like to do that someday.
Iraq was a blacklight to Dan's torment, exposing his pain and suffering as he had to witness the worst the world has to offer. There was a time we didn't think he was going to make it, on those late night drives to Sierra Vista to bring him home. Admitting him to the VA for detox. He would lay on our couch intoxicated, "I saw kids, bodies half burned, the same age as Beniah...they pulled me out of the car and put a gun in my mouth, screaming at me...I might as well just kill myself".
Then things got better, he got remarried, he seemed happy...or at least happier.
We made our last drive to Sierra Vista to get Dan a year ago tonight. It was a long, silent drive. Honestly, Christe was mad.
Selfish.
Is there any chance he survived?
The detective was visibly disappointed to be the one who had to tell us. Christe's anger turned to grief.
I wish I didn't have to be the one to tell Paul about his Dad.
Christe tell's him we have to put his dog Suki down and he cries for days. I tell him his Dad just died and he doesn't flinch.
About 2am Christe headed back to Tucson with Janet, Dan's wife, while I scrubbed blood off the floor. I parked the truck on a different block, so Janet wouldn't have to see the chair. The dump wouldn't open until Monday.
Christe always said she would never marry anyone like her father, and although we chose different paths on the important issues, Christe has come to realize that Dan and I share more in common than she would have hoped to believe. An appreciation for the simpler things in life, a similar sense of humor. In that, I hope she will come to appreciate her father.
I think we will have Bluefin tonight.
Cheers Dan.
