take care
Monday, January 9 
Dave dropping his daughter off for the first day of 1st grade in 2007. Photo courtesy of "Remembering Dave Gaillard" page on Facebook.I’m just back from the memorial for Shawn’s long-time former co-worker and friend to us both, Dave Gaillard.
Dave was a study in contrasts: at 44 years old he was boyish in nature, but clearly a man of character. He was soft-spoken and gentle, yet confident and sure. He was playful and never above silly, but also wise and guided by integrity.
I’ve never really been drawn to redheads, but if I hadn’t fallen for Shawn first, I might have had to revise my thoughts on redheads after meeting Dave. (I admitted this to Shawn, and he said, “I’m fine with that.”) Which is to say, at 6’ 2” or so and lanky, with a mop of red hair and a sly smile topped by soft, kind eyes, Dave was a man you noticed.
And an avalanche took him and crushed the life out of him on New Year’s Eve day.
He was with his sweet wife Kerry, both of them wounded from first marriages gone awry, and happy to have found each other. They’d been married for a year, and were committed not only to each other, but to each others’ kids. They knew the avalanche danger was high during their weekend away in Cooke City, MT, and rather than making turns on challenging slopes, they chose a comparatively safer, flat cross-country ski route.
Still, a little after 2 p.m., Dave’s skiing triggered an upper level slide that took him. When he saw what was coming he shouted back to Kerry to retreat to the trees, which she did. Kerry then spent 2 ½ of undoubtedly the most awful hours of her life alone digging for Dave and their dog, a Corgi named Oly. At dusk, she finally skied out for help, and a search and rescue team later found Dave.
Their dog was presumed dead.
Miraculously, the dog somehow showed up back in Cooke City, in front of their hotel room, four days later, Kerry long gone. Are dogs not the most amazing, kickass creatures? In any case, you can read that story here if you haven’t heard about it already (it also made national news). There's an interesting video about the dog made by one of the rescuers as well.
Dave was one of four boys. To see his three brothers lined up, each taking turns remembering and laughing about times growing up with their brother pinched deep. Made me wish my own three boys were there so I could say, Do you see this? Do you see the powerful connection you have, and how much it would hurt if one of you left before your time? Take care with each other; take care with your words.
Dave’s dad spoke as well, and everyone buckled. He was Dave, only 75ish, with Clint Eastwood looks. He was stoic and proud, until he drew everyone’s attention to the suit coat he was wearing, explaining that he’d loaned it to Dave the year before to get married in, and how terribly he wished Dave was wearing the same suit today, to say goodbye to him instead of the other way around. He was evidence that sometimes life is messed up, and parents have to bury their own children. He was a contrast, just like his boy: strong yet broken. Unforgettable.
Dave worked for Defenders of Wildlife, advocating for often overlooked small predators like wolverines and fishers. It was part of a passionate 20-or-so-year career in conservation, a field with high burnout. (Shawn spent seven of those years with him working at a non-profit called Predator Conservation Alliance.)
His life made me think of my own death, what people might say about me and how it would all stack up. Seems to me it’s not a bad idea to live with the end in mind. Some of us (me) need a kick in the butt like that from time to time. I’ve never wanted to be ordinary or small, but here I am, living my ordinary yet for some reason still undeniably blessed life. Dave lived his ideals, loving and living big, whether it was as a dad, environmentalist, friend, family member, or husband.
There’s no lemonade to be made from someone admirable dying young — someone who draws three hundred-plus people willing to drop everything to honor their life.
The dog returning was a happy, miraculous thing, but it wasn’t the return of Dave.
The only thing I’m left with is the thought that Dave lived every aspect of his life intentionally. He didn’t waste time while he was here. I’ll strive to hold his memory close and do the same.
Reader Comments (12)
This story breaks my heart. You have written a lovely tribute, Megan. As the title of your post says, Take Care.
Magnificent eulogy and important in the message. Take care. In every word, thought, and deed, and with the brevity of life in mind. What a loss. Let's learn the important lessons here.
I've got a speck of dust in my eye.
I did indeed hear about this story about the dog on our local news. What a tragic loss.
Thoughtfully and tenderly written, thank you.
Thanks Megan. I only met Dave once, & as you said, he made an impression. His wife lives next door to my coworker. My heart aches for her and his family. Reinforces holding our loved ones close... Do take care...
Beautiful tribute. I felt like I knew him after reading this.
Very nicely written Megan. My heart goes out to his family and friends.
As often when words fail me and feelings overwhelm me, I turn to poetry. So here's how my thoughts have meandered as I search for solace. (I didn't know Dave, but the impact is felt several times a day in this small town from the enormity of his influence.)
A poem from Wendell Berry:
When despair for the world grows in me,
and I wake in the night at the least sound,
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake rests
in his beauty on the water
and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the dayblind stars,
waiting,
with their light.
For a time, I rest in the grace of the world,
and am free.
--Wendell Berry
And this from Krisnamurti:
You must understand the whole of life,
not just one little part of it.
That is why you must read, that is why
you must look to the skies, that is
why you must sing, and dance,
and write poems, and suffer, and
understand, for all of that is life.
And this from William Stafford:
If you don't know the kind of person I am,
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.
For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.
And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.
And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should consider--
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.
For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.
And a sadder one, but apropos to your contemplating the sum total of your life, from Antonio Machado:
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses."
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
"Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."
The wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted
to you?"
Okay, so since that brings the weight of the world down around me: some levity. Here's what I suspect might be said about me if I met my end now: "She didn't give up" (read: she didn't know when to quit). Things I know will NOT be said about me: "She was wicked good with a vacuum," "She knew the road she was on and traveled it lightly," or "She made it look so easy to be a faultlessly kind and patient person." Hah! Yeah.
What would I like to be said about me, what can I strive for? Makes me think of what I have thought each time I've interacted with Terry Tempest Williams and appreciated the quality she has of making you feel like what you are saying is the most important thing in the world. Or makes me think of the counseling mantra of "unconditional positive regard." Ach! If only I could really put that into practice. What do I really hope? More than beauty through art, more than beauty through really seeing, is an ability to make people feel like everything is going to be okay, for friends to leave time with me feeling good about who they are, that their core that will carry them through all that comes.
I so admire that Dave was making a difference for the environment--but even more so that he was building family and community as he did that. Beautiful, inspiring life.
Thanks for holding the bar high on the power of our words, Megan, and of our lives.
I am so sorry to hear of your loss. He sounds like a wonderful person. It is so hard to suddenly lose somebody dear and loved. There are no words for the gaping hole, the what if's and all the unfinished conversations that should have been. Life is truly so precious.
Everyone: Thanks for your kind comments. Makes me feel good to witness folks who didn't know Dave a bit moved by his story.
Savannah: Thanks for the poems. I suspect for any "situation" I find myself in, I could ask you for a poem and you would have one at your fingertips. I'm in love with those Wendell Berry verses -- what an amazing man he is.
And I'm sorry to say, you are correct on at least one of your self-reflections: I would never remember you as wicked good with a vacuum. I suspect I'm in the same club with you, though.
As for your wish that people leave interacting with you with a feeling that everything is going to be OK and feeling good about who they are, you just nailed it. That's how I leave every dog walk with you -- better off than before the walk. So there. That beats vacuuming any day.
This us such a heart touching post, Megan. Your tribute to Dave did made me realize some things. Dave lived his life so wonderfully. He used his talents so well not only as Husband or as a Dad but a passionate environmentalist. He is truly an inspiration.