The feeling came rushing back to my brain, that same feeling I had encountered months prior: disbelief. My eyes repeatedly drifted over those six words, "Our friend Dan Cimmino passed away." Shock. Sadness. Anger. Disbelief. Each emotion overwhelmed as I continued reading those six words, never making it beyond "passed away." Our friend, our brother, our colleague was gone. I will never forget that moment I was first told that Dan was battling cancer. That initial disbelief and shock rushed to my brain, almost comforting me in a way, because it couldn't possibly be true. This friend and coworker of mine, a brother, would never face the challenge of battling one of the greatest diseases known to man. As the devastating news was confirmed, that shock and disbelief quickly turned to anger. "Why would one of the best people I know be forced to face this disease?" "How could someone so young and healthy be diagnosed with something so rare?" Then something strange happened. Dan himself, not even 30 years old, posted a video to Facebook. The video was him, alone in his room, consoling US that everything was going to be ok. There he was, recently diagnosed with that word no friend or family member wants to hear, yet he was the one showing the strength and courage to the rest of us that he was prepared to fight. A person hears a lot of cliches when cancer rears its ugly head. "You're going to fight this and get through it." "No one is better suited to overcome this disease than you." "I can't wait to see you kick cancer's ass!" There are a variety of different statements, but they always hold the same meaning - you can fight this and you can beat this. But a simple mention of the word "cancer" brings with it a certain fear. Yet, after watching Dan's video, I - along with hundreds of others - believed him. There was no way in hell anything, not even the rarest of cancers, was going to beat the courage displayed in that video. Days and weeks passed as options were weighed, treatments were started and the battle began. At the same time, support arrived from every corner of the country. I recognized familiar faces and was introduced to complete strangers, united in the same goal - displaying their belief that Dan would soon be back to normal, working at the job he loved in Orlando, joking with friends at sporting events and spending time with the family he loved so dearly. Various treatments and medications came and went, with doctors constantly seeking the best path to a "cancer-free" Dan. All the while, his attitude remained positive. Sure, there were good days and bad days, but through texts I never once felt he wavered from the premise of his initial video - I'm going to fight and I'm going to win. I was fortunate enough to visit Dan in February, catching up on everything from his job that he loved to the nephews he loved to spoil. We discussed potential sports trips that our group of friends should consider and how much fun we had on similar adventures in the past. Again, there was no sign of defeat and no doubt that all of these future plans would come true as soon as the disease was defeated. He did discuss his recent treatments - those that were working and those that weren't - but we spent the majority of our time reminiscing and laughing about the past. We hugged, hopped in our vehicles and drove away - meeting again at a stoplight, laughing as we revved the engines and cranked the music - eventually heading in opposite directions. I can still see the smile on his face and the laughter in his eyes as he turned once the light turned green. If only I had known. Which brings me back to Saturday night and those six words: "Our friend Dan Cimmino passed away." I had stayed up-to-date on his treatments and even spoke with his mother about the best time we could catch up on the phone. As my eyes finally glanced beyond those six words, I realized I would never have that chance. The shock, sadness, anger and disbelief eventually turned to understanding. Dan promised all of us he would fight until he could fight no more and I know deep down, that's exactly what he had done. Memories flooded my brain - the first time I met him as colleague, the laughs and jokes shared, his incredible dance moves and singing abilities, the NCAA Tournament trip to Chicago, our hockey adventure in Canada and eventually, that final smile. I join friends and family in mourning, but know we are all better off having met Dan Cimmino in whatever capacity we were fortunate enough to have done. There are certainly challenging and sad days ahead, particularly for his wonderful family, but I know Dan would want us to rejoice in the memories. He would want us to laugh while imagining his Michael Jackson dancing skills, appreciate his work ethic and dedication to his career, and praise the valiant effort he gave throughout his battle. It will be ok to cry and mourn, just as it will be to smile and laugh whenever the mention of Dan Cimmino arises. Gone is a brother, a son, an uncle, a colleague, a friend, and most importantly, one of the greatest people I have ever met. What remains are the memories, the laughter, the understanding that Dan truly touched the lives of everyone he met. Goodbye my friend, until we meet again. "Those we love never truly leave us. There are things even death cannot touch."
5 Comments
Russ Thomas
5/7/2017 08:19:26 pm
Beautiful...
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james cimmino
5/8/2017 07:54:40 am
richie, that was not only beautiful but perfectly accurate. god bless u for that. and god bless our dan and family !
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Paul cimmono
5/8/2017 08:22:22 am
Rich: reading this brought tears and thank you for loving him as he did you. Paul
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Donna Orser
5/8/2017 09:00:28 am
This is for the family of Dan, our family also lost a young adult to cancer. We know what your family is going through. I never met Dan, but I worked with his mom for awhile and my heart felt sympathy goes out to your whole family. It sounds like you have a close loving family and you will be each other's comfort for the next few months. May God be with you all. My prayers are with you.
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Aubra Lewis
5/10/2017 06:44:19 pm
A beautiful tribute. So sorry for the hole he has left.
Reply
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AuthorRichie is a small-town boy chasing big-city dreams. When he's not involved with sports, he's spending time with his wife, Fallon; their yorkie, Tinker; and their Rhodesian Ridgeback, Rosie. Archives
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