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