Happy Birthday, Dan!

Today is Dan's birthday. And though he's been gone six months, I still want to celebrate for him. We celebrated his life at his funeral this year on February 26. Again, today, I want to celebrate his life. Honestly, I celebrate him in one way or another every single day. But, today he deserves more.

In his memory, I want to share a second eulogy delivered at Dan's funeral. It was written and delivered by our daughter Greta and is a lovely tribute.


"Last night Reverend Brooks reminded us that today is a celebration of life and I have taken that to heart. There are moments that I feel overwhelming confusion and grief but I have spent much of the past six days just remembering Dan. When I think about Dan throughout the years, I don’t remember confusion, grief, or even the Dan that was diagnosed with cancer and then spent three years battling it and never giving up.

I remember consistency, pragmatism, care, and kindness. I also remember epic family vacations that always consisted of the five of us and sometimes, if we were especially fortunate, our dog Brendan. Camping, skiing, all that history. You would think the camping, skiing, and showing history to kids must have been torture for him but he kept doing it and now these are all experiences that Richie, Erich, and I have sought to replicate. 

I also remember the day to day. Dan was my barometer for whether or not an idea was ridiculous and over the top. If he looked pensive and confused, it was probably bad. If he started researching and reading about it, it was probably good.

I live in Honduras, a decision that Dan met with some apprehension. It has been a challenging environment for me for different reasons, which Dan would surely agree with because he spent 2.5 years listening to me rant on the phone. After these calls, I would hang up and tell myself I would do better next time so he would not see my calls as his parental cross to bear. But he is Dan and he asked the leading questions and I would get going again on my soapbox.

One day I received a message from him. They had moved to Des Moines and were without a church home but still with a desire to do something. Even in the days leading up to his death, he was thinking beyond himself and his place in this world. He did not take this on lightly though and he undertook a very Dan like research project. In his message, he recognized there was great suffering in this world and he and my mom had decided they wanted to tithe to an organization aimed specifically at alleviating the suffering for migrants from Honduras.

He had identified Doctors without Borders and asked for my opinion and suggestions of other organizations that would play a role in improving the lives of Hondurans. Sometimes on low days I wonder if anyone cares or if the world is filled with apathy and disinterest. I am so grateful that the world has people like Dan who take the time to think through all the sides of an issue and remind others, like myself, that at the heart of it is a human being who is deserving of our love and attention. He makes me want to be a better person, someone who is kind and considerate like him.

I knew this would be difficult to get through and I didn’t want to leave you feeling sad because we are celebrating Dan’s life. I would be remiss if I didn’t leave you with something else. I mentioned before the photos and the stories that have flooded us all and many of you commented on something special and very Dan-like, his mustache. He hadn’t had a mustache since the mid-90’s but we all remember it. My brother Erich memorialized it with a handmade Christmas ornament that we bring out every year. If you have seen it then you will know it is only something a parent could love. Dan displayed it every year, even when it turned from a child’s school project into a long-running family joke. He was in on the joke.

Thank you for coming today to celebrate Dan’s life. It was a good one. "
Written and delivered by Greta Lewellyn Schmidt Gromovich, February 26, 2019

In the days and weeks following Dan's death, many friends and family made contributions in his memory to Doctors Without Borders. Our family is so touched by these gestures of love, honor and respect for Dan. There isn't a birthday gift that would make Dan happier than for me to further honor him by matching those gifts. So, I have done so today. This is for you, Dan. Happy birthday!

Seattle
October 2014

Three months ago today I lost the love of my life, my husband of 30 years, Daniel Arthur Cambridge, to cancer. It was a day we anticipated for 3 and a half years. When the doctor delivered his diagnosis in the Fall 2015, the prognosis was not good - maybe three months -- maybe five years. Of course, all we heard was three months. So, we cried together that day. We prayed together. And, then we cried separately, in secret, for three more years. I assume Dan cried, although I never saw him do so. And he seldom saw me shed a tear.

People thought we were strange. They asked me how we talk about "it" and I said simply, "We don't." I never took the time to analyze it. That's just the way we were. We knew what was to come. We didn't need to dwell on it. We each instinctively knew that the best thing for the other was to focus on making our days together last as long as we could and making every single one count.

I'm not one to dwell on death anniversaries. Every day, in one way or another, I remember loved ones who have gone before me. But, this year, this day ... May 20 ... marks three months of living without Dan - a milestone for me. So far, I've survived what feels like an eternity. I take it a day at a time and very slowly and methodically, a step at a time, putting one foot solidly in front of the other. Because of the strength of Dan's faith in God and a life everlasting, as each day passes I am able to feel less of his absence and more of his presence. And thanks to my family and dear friends, I move forward.

My sister Eva and my daughter Greta each wrote the most beautiful eulogies and delivered them at Dan's funeral. Two entirely different perspectives, yet each one so in synch with the other. In Dan's honor, I want to share one those today. The other I will share one special day soon.

Thank you, Eva Lea, for this beautiful letter turned memorial and eulogy. Not only does it honor Dan, but it made me fully understand our need to refrain from dwelling on the dying and focus on the living - fully embracing each and every day for what it is -- a gift!

Dan, my love, this is for you. I know you're reading.

February 25, 2019

Dear Lisa

I can’t stop thinking about Dan and all the lessons he didn’t know he was teaching. Here’s the thing about Dan: He always knew what mattered most. God. Family. Responsibility. Humility. Serving others. Doing the right thing and doing things right. Knowing when to speak up and when you do speak up, be clear, be candid, be kind. Listening to those who need to talk; talking to those who need a good talking to. Spending time together and staying in touch. Maintaining a sense of humor, although I’m not sure I always understood Dan’s sense of humor because he operated on such a higher intellectual plane. But I knew he had one, and it erupted with wicked precision when you least expected it.

Dan knew it mattered not to take himself too seriously, which became clearer to me over the last few days of reminiscing and rifling through old photos. I never realized Dan’s proclivity for costumes…he was surprisingly willing to wear them and be photographed in them for various holidays, parties, parades, and any event, really, that might be better if one attended in a peculiar getup. Dan obliged.

At age 40, becoming a husband and embracing instant parenthood…he always seemed to know what mattered most in this new and sometimes complicated relationship with his readymade extended family. Patience, respect, integrity and dignity in all things. He never wavered.

Dan knew that experiences and adventure and making memories mattered. Adventures like the summer driving vacation with all your kids and a dog in tow to the Black Hills in the infamous Safari mini-van that smelled of sour milk. The journey when you moved from Iowa to Florida. With kids. And dog. And no air conditioning in the car. In July. These experiences could only have been orchestrated by Dan. He knew they were character-building. And, he knew everyone would laugh about them. Eventually.

Dan knew that my relationship with you mattered. And, so, when I’d come to visit, I appreciated that he’d quietly retire to the bedroom so you and I could drink wine into the wee hours of the night and laugh and sit in judgement of everyone that Dan was too kind and too mature to judge.

Dan also knew what didn’t matter: Things like vehicles. As evidenced by the Safari minivan that smelled of sour milk and the condition of pretty much every other auto he ever owned. Things like fancy clothes. For Dan, clothing served merely as necessary and practical covering for his body, and to capture the remnants of the full life he was living – food, wine, dirt from the garden or oil from the garage. Things like rules of the road also didn’t matter. For Dan, these were more like guidelines or suggestions, which made being a passenger in his car often unnerving. I think there was so much going on in Dan’s head that mattered more than seemingly insignificant and unnecessary traffic regulations.

And, here’s another thing that didn’t matter: Dying from cancer. Dan didn’t want his remaining time to be defined by cancer. It was obvious and inevitable and unavoidable that cancer would win in death.

But for Dan, it wasn’t going to win in life.

The thing that mattered most was living…living life with the person who mattered most…you.

He lived fully and completely. With gusto and gratitude. With sincerity and clarity. With you.

Dan showed us all what matters most: It’s not about the dying. It’s about the living.

I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to follow his example.

Love,

Eva Lea