In the beginning I met Jon about 32 years ago, the first day he visited Philip Morris USA for his interview with Plant Industrial Engineering – he was fresh out of Virginia Tech. I was immediately struck by his wit, intelligence, and knowledge of the field. He soon became a great co-worker with which I shared many time studies and other projects, and a friend.
Because of our similar ages and marital statuses at the time, we spent quite a few hours hanging out at various parties and get-togethers at his apartment complex and mine. As our lives progressed and marital statuses changed, we continued to be onsite confidants sharing both our joys and woes. As children entered our lives our story sharing continued with newfound humor and joys.
Some of daddy’s favorite recipes will be shared throughout the next year. They’re recipes he made, recipes he loved and/or recipes he shared with others. Perhaps one day, you can put that Boy Scout cooking badge to good use and take a stab at them.
SAUSAGE AND EGG CASSEROLE
INGREDIENTS
1 lb sharp cheese, grated
1/2-3/4 tsp dry mustard
1/2-3/4 tsp paprika
3/4-1 tsp salt
1 cup sour cream
1/4 cup milk
1 lb browned, crumbled sausage
12 eggs, boiled and sliced
INSTRUCTIONS
Sprinkle half of the cheese over the bottom of the baking dish
Mix seasonings with sour cream and milk
Pour half of sour cream mixture over cheese
Add the crumbled sausage by layering it over the cheese and sour cream)
Next, layer the sliced eggs on top of the sausage layer
Spread the remaining sour cream mixture on top and sprinkle remaining cheese on this
Bake at 325 degrees in a 10x6x2” pyrex dish for 25-30 minutes (can be made ahead and baked when ready)
Your dad was a great guy. We worked together at PM in the late 80s before I moved to Pittsburgh in 1990, and I was heartbroken when your mom told me he had died.
One night your parents were at our house to hang out as we used to do. Your mom had Lacy at the time. We are all dog lovers. Your mom and dad were teasing each other about not getting to close to each other or anyone else. They had eaten garlic the night before, and 24 hours later, they smelled it coming out of their pores there was so much of it!!! We were all laughing that Lacy wouldn’t even come and sit on the couch with them they smelled so bad!! I remember your dad with a great sense of humor and boy could he make your mom laugh.
THE BUILDUP Happy 15th, Dane. Keeping this project a secret for the past three months has been tough… Thankfully, I got to practice my lips-are-sealed skills as an eight year old. First, I was sworn to secrecy that mom was expecting, and then, I had to keep your name under lock and key until the day you were born – even amidst my friends’ relentless guessing and teasing that we were naming you “cut the cheese.” Every few days while dad drove Joelle and me to school, he’d ask (really it was more of a warning) “you haven’t told anyone…have you?”
FINALLY… Paul Revere’s “the British are coming” didn’t have anything on daddy’s middle-of-the-night “he’s coming!”
Groggy, I remember responding with a tired and confused “what?”
“Dane’s coming,” he said. “Get up! Quickly. Go pack lunch for you and your sister.”
Originally, Joelle and I were supposed to go to Bette Hair’s house while dad took mom to the hospital, but you weren’t playing around this time (you had caused quite the false alarm the week earlier on St. Patrick’s Day). Dad sped to Johnston-Willis, while Joelle and I sat in the backseat playing 20 questions about when we’d get to meet you and whether we’d be late to school.
Dad dropped us off at the hospital entrance before going to park the Passat. While mom’s water broke in the maternity ward lobby, dad broke the car by frantically driving over a concrete divider in the parking lot (nothing some strategic zip-tying couldn’t fix, he said).
A few minutes later, dad took off down the hall with the nurse who was pushing mom’s wheelchair. Then the waiting began. Joelle and I had the pleasure of sitting in the waiting room where we watched more than four hours of middle-of-the-night soaps.
“WE HAVE TO PEE!!!!!” we screamed in unison when daddy finally reemerged around 5:30 a.m.
We were so distracted by our desperation to reach a bathroom that we rode the elevator, legs crossed, in silence. Relieved, we reunited with daddy at the elevator bank and finally asked how mommy was.
“She’s good,” he said with a smile slowly spreading across his face. Then, as the elevator doors closed he nonchalantly added “And so is Dane.”
“Dane’s here?!” we both squealed, jumping up and down.
We then got to meet and hold you before Daddy drove us to school. And in case you were wondering, yes…not only was I on time, but I was the first one there.
PROUD DAD
Subtlety was not dad’s strong suit…at least not when it came to bragging about his kids (I’m sure his co-workers can attest to this). I also don’t think you could ever use the word “underwhelming” to describe the things he did.
Celebrating your birth was no exception. There were – of course – the birth announcements with the Shania Twain lyric “our dreams came true because of you.” There were the blue, sparkly “It’s a Boy” pencils that were ready to be given out to our classes. There were the custom “it’s a hersHEy” bars with all of your measurements. And there were celebratory cigars (dad loved a good cigar). I think if given the chance he would have shouted from the rooftops and sent out a press release to the Richmond Times Dispatch.
He was also proud of your name. He loved how unique it was, and he loved that your middle name, Max, paid homage to his own dad.
YOUR FIRST BIRTHDAY WITHOUT DADDY These are some of the first family photos I could find of us in our new normal.
Balloons have come to be synonymous with celebration. The celebration of birthdays. Of milestones. Of happiness. At Comfort Zone, the balloon release is a celebration of a life that was and the love that still is. These balloons symbolize all of the above.
Flashback to December. In the find-the-perfect gift chaos of the holidays, I admittedly had a very hard time coming up with something you really needed (never mind a decent surprise). Barring a lifetime supply of insured, Dane-proof computers, you have what you need on the electronics, clothes, sports and hiking equipment, etc. fronts. I aimlessly browsed store aisles. I asked friends what they were getting their similarly aged brothers. I Googled and not-so-subtly asked you for pointers. I was stuck. Then, it hit me: the thing I want you to have more than anything in the world is memories of daddy.
As you know, I was a daddy’s girl through and through. Simply put, daddy’s death devastated me. But the thing that has triggered the majority of my tears over the years – the thing that I don’t think I’ll ever get over – is the fact that you never got to know him. I so vividly remember you as a toddler asking where daddy was. I remember you throwing a tantrum in his car, kicking the seat he was supposed to be sitting in asking why we weren’t letting him come home from the hospital. I remember the way you’d watch other dads…the way you’d race into David Nieman’s arms, the way you’d immediately try to play with my friends’ dads and the way you’d sometime climb into strangers’ laps if they resembled daddy. I remember the way in which you completely and utterly broke down at the Comfort Zone bonfire after hearing a rendition of James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain.” I didn’t know whether you knew, but I sat there knowing it was a song that we had listened to in daddy’s car so many times. And then there were all of the times – the piano and band recitals, swim meets, baseball games, plays, literary society meetings, father-son Boy Scout hikes and more – when I knew you were missing him. Yet here we are. You’re 15 and somehow, despite it all, you grew up. You’ve grown into a young man without so many of the rich memories I was so lucky to form in my own 11 years.
While I can’t change it – no matter how much I desperately wish I could – I want to give you the best alternative to knowing him that I can: the chance to know more about him. So, for the past three months, I’ve been journaling…writing down every single (big, small and random) thing I remember about him. But, a few days into writing these things down, daddy’s line of “don’t do things half-assed” played in my head. After asking myself how I could best capture the essence of the person he was, I began emailing, Facebook messaging, LinkedIn stalking, calling and meeting with people who knew daddy in different capacities at different times throughout his life. I talked to family, friends, co-workers, old roommates, other parents, neighbors, his dentist…the list goes on. They described the man he was. They shared stories. They sent pictures. And, they told me about things that still remind them of him.
From all of this, I created a website that will automatically post one celebration of daddy’s life each day for a full year. I like to think of it as a year’s worth of missed moments that will help you learn about the undeniably awesome, quirky and special man our dad was. The fact that he gave so many people such vivid memories that they can remember him well over a decade later is astounding. Though nothing can make up for the 4,131 days in which you’ve had to grow up without him, I am hopeful that this can make it sting just a little less. I still consider myself to be so lucky, and I hope you can one day feel the same way.
You were and still are so loved, Dane. Never ever forget that. Though I give you a hard time, know I am so proud of the compassionate, funny man you are growing into. Daddy would be proud too.
Celebrating Jon 