Remembering Dale

Dale and me on Orcas Island 2015

Two years ago today I got the call that my best friend Dale died. It was one of the hardest days of my life.

The timing was unbelievable. Dale and his fiancé Liz, along with two of Dale's boys, had just spent five days with us on vacation. We packed so much into those days--a wonderful day at my company picnic, playing on the beach at Birch Bay, hiking Mount Baker, sightseeing in Seattle, and taking the ferry to walk and play in Friday Harbor.

It was an amazing time together, filled with great talks and lots of love and laughter. On the last day of their time in Washington, Dale proposed to Liz in Seattle. We talked a couple times over the next week as they started making wedding plans.

I cried the night they left, and I cried tears of joy when he told me about the proposal.

I've always been a cryer--any sappy movie can get my tears flowing. I get tears of joy when my kids win a big game or bring home a great report card.

I've never cried harder than I did the day I learned Dale had died. I woke up, and as usual, looked at my phone to see if there were any pressing messages or emails. I saw a notification of a Facebook message from Liz, Dale's fiancé.

"Todd, it's Liz. Please call me." 

Messages at 2 AM are never good. I figured there had been an accident or something like that, and hoped that nobody was hurt too badly. I called Liz and she answered the phone. She sounded upset, like she'd been crying. My anxiety level quickly rose. 

She said, "Todd, Last night, Dale took Ryan to soccer practice. While he was there, he went for a run. He must have collapsed while he was running, and he died. Dale's dead, Todd."

I felt frozen; like I couldn't move or think or feel anything. Then when I did move, it felt funny, like it wasn't me; like I was outside my body. I stood up and began walking back and forth next to the bed.

"Oh Liz, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I didn't know what else to say; I just kept repeating those words. I felt like my mind was pulling back, closing up, running from the truth and the weight of what Liz said.  

"I don't know what do, Liz. I think I'm in shock."

"Is Jamie there?" she asked. "Give the phone to Jamie."

Jamie was in the shower. I walked into the bathroom, opened the shower door, and just held my phone out to Jamie. I guess she took it, then I walked back into the bedroom. 

I dropped to my knees next to the bed. I felt like my heart was exploding. I buried my face in the comforter on the bed and began to wail--a combination of sobs and screams, over and over, into the bed. The boys were still sleeping; I didn't want to wake them.

Jamie came out of the bathroom and put her hand on my back. I just kept sobbing. My mind was frozen. I couldn't process what was going on. My body felt weak and I felt a pain, deep inside, like nothing I'd ever felt. 

I cried for a while, then got up and talked with Jamie for a minute. I texted my boss to tell him I wouldn't be at work. It was time to get the boys up, so I went to get them. They had just spent five days with Dale and Liz, Ryan and Benjamin. Dale was family to them, as he was to me.

I went into Brady's room and woke him up. He could see in my face and hear in my voice that something was wrong. As soon as I opened my mouth to speak I began crying again. I tried to breathe and speak slowly so I could get the words out.

"Dale, he was running, and he collapsed, and he died."

Brady's eyes got big; it took him a few seconds to process the information, then he began to cry, and reached out to hold onto me. I started crying again and just held him. Cash heard us and came into the room, so I told him. He started crying as well. We were all just letting it out.

Jamie had to go to work--she kept apologizing, but I knew she needed to be there and told her to go.

I fed the boys breakfast and told them they could stay home or go to day camp. They both chose to stay home. I sat with them and cried and held them for a bit. Then I got them watching TV and began to make some calls.

I called my mother. Mom had known Dale since we were kids; he was family. I didn't want to scare her, and knew I would start crying as soon as I spoke, so I started with "the kids are OK."

I slowly got out the words to tell her what happened to Dale. She was upset.

I left messages with Jill, one of Dale's closest friends from high school, and Lisa, whom Dale dated in high school. They both called me back soon after. I told each of them what had happened. Every time I began to speak, I stared crying again, and struggled to speak the words.

Both of them were shocked and upset, and concerned for me, and for Liz, and Dale's family.

Sue, Dale's ex-wife, called me and we talked and cried.

I called Dale's mom and talked with her. I don't remember much about those conversations; just listening to details as they came, talking about plans for a memorial service.

It was a horrible day, but underneath the grief, then and now, was a nugget of joy--realizing that  the person I admired and respected more than anyone was my best friend. That for my whole life I had a friend who was always there for me. Dale supported me and encouraged me and always answered the call when I needed something. He always gave--emotionally, spiritually, materially.

One time when I needed a car and asked him to borrow money, Dale gave me a car he had that he didn't drive much anymore. When I went to pick it up, I looked at the service records and saw that he had fixed the AC, done a full service and put new tires on it before giving it to me.

I had 43 great years of memories with him, and the icing on it all was a week of incredible joy and new memories we had just experienced.

The grief and loss are always there, but they are softened by a lifetime of wonderful memories, especially those we made in that last week together. I'm grateful I got to meet Liz, who Dale loved so much, and who brought him so much joy.

I went to San Antonio a year ago to be with Liz and Dale's family on his birthday (and the anniversary of his death). It was wonderful to spent that time with them. I didn't make it down there this year, but hope to next year.

I cry less often these days. I guess I am healing, but I still miss him and think about him every day. every single day. Sometimes I talk to him, usually on my drive to or from work; which is when we had most of our phone conversations over his last few years.

And I look forward to seeing him again one day, and giving him one of the bear hugs we always shared when we said hello.