Farewell, Old Friend...
filed on Sunday, February 01, 2004 at 4:59:56 AM CST

I am sitting here in front of my computer, and I find myself at a loss for coherent words.  There is so much I would like to say, but perhaps for the first time in my life, I am having trouble finding the words to express myself.  My mind is awash in thoughts and memories, and I feel overwhelmed by the tide rushing in.  Sunday evening, January 25, 2004, my friend Terri's father, David Sexauer, passed away.  The past few months had been especially hard on him, and we all know that it was time for him to go, but somehow that knowledge only made it slightly easier to accept his passing.

I have started to write this entry three times now, and I hope that perhaps I may get all of my thoughts out this time.  It is just so hard, because I feel like I want to tell everything I can about him, and yet, that's such an unreasonable expectation of myself, because I couldn't do justice in under a novel.  Dave was such a great guy.  When I met him and his wife, Darlene, some eighteen years ago, I was instantly welcomed in as a friend of Terri and Hugh's (Dave and Jean are Terri's parents, and Jean and Hugh are Hugh's parents... so if you ever hear Dar introduce them as "... my daughter, Terri, and her brother, Hugh..." you will understand why...).  After meeting them, I would often ask when we could go visit Dave and Dar, and after I got older and had a car of my own, I would often visit Greg (who lived in the apartment attached to their house), and that usually meant hanging out with Dave and Dar some as well.  After Greg passed away in '96, I lived in his old apartment, and of course, spent a seemingly endless amount of time with Dave and Dar.  Yesterday afternoon, we laid Dave to rest, and so here I sit, my thoughts all running astray...

Dave was always such a warm, friendly fellow.  He would welcome you into his house with a smile.  It's funny, because while I know there were times he was upset about things, I seem only able to recall him with a smile.  There's a good reason for that, and it's not just my mind trying to bring the best times to the forefront.  It's because, quite seriously, he was usually smiling.  Whether we were sitting around the island in the kitchen, just talking about whatever, or sitting in the rec room watching television, or at a restaurant or a movie, or wherever, it seemed he was always smiling.  It was fitting that even as we looked upon him in eternal sleep, that the faintest hint of that smile could still be seen.  It could not have been more appropriate.

When I got a chance to talk to Dar on Monday, she said she would be saying it a lot, but that Dad wanted us all to know three things.  That he had lived a great life, that he regretted nothing, and that he was ready to go.  It would be impossible for anyone to deny that, for he had done a great many things in life, travelled and seen many sights, and had so many friends who loved him that certainly the measure of his life was quite good.  I can only hope that when my final day arrives that I can look back much as he, and find myself with such good stock to look back upon.  Jean (Hugh's mom) had found such a great poem, it was so fitting.  I will have to get a copy from Terri, but basically, it speaks that throughout all of the suffering he went through, he never complained, he bore his burden until the end, and as we looked upon him so peaceful, we could not wish him back to suffer again.  It was such fitting prose, almost as if written for him.  Dar was telling us how he never complained.  That whenever he would ask for a glass of water, it was always with pleases and thank yous, and that he just pressed forth each day.

Somehow I managed to make it through the wake without breaking down.  I'm not entirely sure how, as we were there for the duration of it, Friday evening from 4:00 to 9:00 (and a little before and after as well).  Maybe I was just being strong for everyone else there, making sure, with Hugh, that the treats were kept filled, making a drink run when needed to get some soda, and just talking with those who came up and spoke to us.  I guess maybe my mind hadn't quite settled in on the fact that he was gone, perhaps hoping that it was just a dream.

The funeral itself was another matter entirely.  The moment I stepped back into the funeral home, having parked my car as the second in the procession since Terri, Matt (her fiance), Hugh, and I would be driving together, my heart just sank.  Dar had chosen Jeff and Mark, Luke and Jimmy (nephews from each of her two brothers) as four of the six pall bearers, and Terri asked me if I would be willing to be a pall bearer with Matt.  There was no way I could say no.  It was an honor that she asked me to, and certainly I was honored to be such a part of the final moments.  And horrified.

I started to wonder if I would just break down as we were walking with the casket, and I eventually had to start distracting myself, because I didn't want to focus on it.  I knew I would hold together when the time came, I was just having a hard time convincing myself of that.  I honestly couldn't tell you much about what was said during the service in the funeral home.  A lot of prayers and psalms and passages that were drowned out by my own memories of Dave.  I just remember that the second hymn we sang was "Amazing Grace," the first and last verses, and as we neared the end of the last verse, I found my voice had left.  I wanted to sing, but I knew if I tried to force my voice, that I would break out in tears, and I wanted to be strong for Terri and Dar.  Maybe it was silly, but then, I just wanted to make it through the service.

The service ended, and the funeral director came in and asked everyone, starting at the back, to pass by and offer their final respects to Dave.  I just sat next to Hugh, Dar, Terri, and Matt, and watched as people walked by.  Some swiftly, barely looking upon him as they passed, some stopping to take one last look, each dealing with his passing in their own way, and I felt myself slowly losing what little control I had left.  To see so many people walk by, each one having been touched by Dave in life, each one now mourning his loss, I just really did not want to have to stand up and take my turn to say goodbye.  It just didn't seem right that he was gone so soon.  And yet, like I say, not a one of us would have wished him back to suffer more.

When finally everyone else had passed, and we stood, Terri's Uncle Ron standing there looking upon him, I finally just let go.  And Dar came up and put her arm around me, and said to me that Dave had always been proud of me, impressed by my skill with computers.  That he would often tell people that when I was showing them how to use their computer, I'd be sitting there, talking with them, still typing, or clicking the mouse all over the place.  As I stood, looking at him, her arm around me, I couldn't help but think about the many times I'd been at their house, showing them one thing or another, and having to remember to click a little bit slower so they could follow along with what I was showing them.  He used to ask me how it was I just flew all over the place with the mouse, and of course, it was hard to explain that it just came naturally.

Dar reminded me that he'd had a good life, and then she said, "You know, you were always one of our kids."  They had always welcomed me into their house, but more, they'd welcomed me into their family.  I know this was hardest on Dar and Terri, but as I stood there, I couldn't help but feel that I'd lost another dad.  I wanted so much to tell Dar that I understood, that I knew he had been ready to go, but I just couldn't say anything.  I just held onto her, tears pouring freely, much as they are right now as I'm writing this.  It's just so hard to let go of someone who was such a joy, such a great person.

I looked up finally, and her nephew Jeff was standing there, and so I moved on so that he could give her a hug, and pay his final respects to Dave.  I turned, and saw Matt hugging Terri, and Terri looked up and saw me, and I walked over, and we just hugged, crying.  We had been talking on Friday about how it would be so hard to keep from crying what with everyone else walking up and giving hugs and crying, and I had told her I would walk up and hug her and laugh... so she whispered to me that I had made that promise, and both of us laughed a little as we wept.

I suppose over the next few days, I'll be writing many entries about Dave, because there's just so much to tell... but I wanted to get some of it out of the way now while it was still fresh in memory.

I will miss him.  A warm, friendly smile has faded from this Earth, but he will live on in our memories.  What he gave us in life is not easily forgotten, and he is absolutely right.  He lived a good life, and it is evidenced in those whose lives he brought smiles and laughter to.

Thank you, Dave, for having been a part of my life.