A Father's Faith Tested
When you see this call me
It’s important
Dans in the hospital
Please pray
These are the texts that woke me shortly after midnight on the morning of February 23rd.
My daughter, Brenna, and her husband, Dan, had spent an unusually warm late February day enjoying time with each other. It had been a stressful work week for both, and they decided to take a drive to my daughter’s “happy place,” the Jersey Shore. I was attending a Catholic men’s conference in Middletown, New Jersey, and my daughter messaged me a few times letting me know what a wonderful day they were having.
Later in the day they arrived back home with the intent of settling in for an evening spent on the couch, enjoying a movie together. But they were restless. It had been such a special day. They didn’t want it to end.
They got back in the car and drove to one of their favorite restaurants. No better way to end a great day than with a great meal.
While they ate, they noticed a man walk in who just seemed “off.” My son-in-law commented that they should “keep an eye on him.” The man harassed a few patrons, and, at one point, tried to step behind the bar. Eventually it seemed as though the man had grown tired of his own antics and began to make his way to the door. Everyone could relax.
But just as quickly as the man left their sight, he was back, lunging at Brenna’s husband, fist raised in the air, clutching a knife. He plunged the blade deep into the center of Dan’s back, immediately severing his spine. My daughter leapt out of her seat, fell to the ground and wrapped her arms around the man she loved.
Chaos ensued as the assailant ran out of the building, several diners chasing after him. He ran far and fast, disappearing into the dark night.
My daughter was helped into an ambulance to be by her husband’s side. I can’t begin to imagine what thoughts raced through her mind as she held his hand tightly, her eyes fixed on the knife still protruding from his back.
They arrived at a local hospital, which, by the grace of God, is our state’s best trauma center. Surgeons operated through the night. They saved his life. But he was now, and will likely remain, paralyzed from the chest down.
Several family members had raced down to be with Dan and Brenna in their hour of need. So many that no one else would be admitted. I did what I felt best. I went to a 24-hour adoration chapel to be with our Lord and plead for help, though I didn’t even know what “help” would be under the circumstances. I prayed. I cried. I begged God to put me through any and all suffering that would allow the suffering of my daughter and son-in-law to be taken away. We know it rarely works that way.
I prayed again. “Lord, give this family the strength to survive this test.”
By 6 am I could no longer stand to be away. I drove to the hospital to see my children. Those who are parents know; they are always our “children.” There never comes a time when you feel “they’re adults. They’ve got this. My job is done.” You want to hold them, cradle them, comfort them.
As I entered the hospital, the first person I encountered was Dan’s father. He embraced me and sobbed. I wept with him. Without a word exchanged, we were acknowledging that our children’s lives would never be the same.
I sat. I waited.
Eventually my daughter came out to see me. I pray that no father reading this ever witnesses what I did that morning. My daughter, my “pumpkin,” my “princess” was standing right in front of me, but she was almost unrecognizable. Her face was red and swollen from intense fits of crying. Her gaze was distant. She was broken. There is no other word. My daughter was broken. And I, her father, for the first time in her life, couldn’t make it all better.
I have had pain in my life. I watched my Mom suffer through three bouts of cancer, the last, taking her life. I held my Father’s hand on a Thanksgiving morning as he breathed his last. I’ve lost too many friends and loved ones to count; an eventuality that comes with growing older. But I have never felt pain like I did that morning. The pain was so deep that it was eventually replaced by emptiness. I felt nothing. I felt hollow. I felt as though my soul, my very being, had left my body.
Sunday, February 23rd, 2025, will forever be the longest day of my life.
At around 1:30 in the afternoon a Catholic priest arrived. A kindly fellow with a charming demeanor and a soon to be known interesting back story. He went to Dan’s room, prayed with him, his parents, and my daughter. Coming back downstairs, he held Mass in the hospital’s tiny chapel. It looked more like an undersupplied broom closet. But, somehow, Christ made His way into that unsightly room. I acted as altar server and lector. At least I was lending something to this awful day. After visiting with Dan and Brenna some more, he spent time with those of us stuck in the hospital’s massive foyer. He was of great comfort.
A short time later I noticed a nun or sister enter. She couldn’t be missed; she was well over six feet tall, wearing full habit, and walking with a cane. I couldn’t help but see the massive Eastern Crucifix she wore around her neck. For context, we were in Camden, New Jersey; not an area where you would often come upon an Eastern Catholic or Orthodox priest or sister. Actually, these days, you rarely see them anywhere. I was taught by the sisters of Saint Basil the Great at my Byzantine Catholic elementary school back in the seventies, and that may be the last time I saw an Eastern Catholic sister.
I walked toward her, introduced myself, and asked if she was of a Byzantine Order. She said she was, and seemed delighted that I would recognize her as such. I would later find that she was Russian Orthodox but answered me in the affirmative because they celebrate what is commonly called the Byzantine Liturgy. Byzantine Catholics and the Orthodox share the liturgies of Saint John Chrysostom and Saint Basil the Great, with the Orthodox simply removing prayers for the Pope. Please forgive the oversimplification.
I would also learn that she was with the Sisters of Mary Magdalene in Old Forge, Pennsylvania, and her title was Mother.
Mother Catherine was unbelievably comforting. She also shared that she was in a horrible car accident a few years earlier and was told she had paralysis and would never walk again. As I mentioned earlier, she was walking quite well with just a simple cane. We spoke for some time before she had to leave.
The afternoon of Sunday crawled every so slowly, almost stubbornly into the evening and then the night. The sun dawning on Monday offered nothing more than another day; another 24 hour period in which to wait, and to pray. I’ve been doing both.
It has now been three days since the tragedy that is beginning to reshape the futures of an entire extended family. Three days of hopes raised and of hopes dashed. Three days of “let’s roll up our sleeves and move ahead!,” and three days of “I can’t do this anymore.” Three days of “God’s got this,” and three days of “why, God?”
In my capacity as a CCD instructor, I’ve had students confide in me about difficulties in their homes, the constant bickering of divorced parents, the death of a beloved grandparent. I remind them that Christ is always with them, and that prayer will always be their shield. I have facilitated Bible Studies for a decade and have comforted countless attendees when they’ve suffered pain or loss in their lives. I’ve told them that as long as their faith remains, their hope will as well.
It's time to practice what I preach.
I know our God is a loving God, and that He mourns right along side of me as I deal with this tragic turn of events. Prayer may not restore yesterday, but it will strengthen me, and my family, for tomorrow. How many times I have reminded others that our Savior did not promise us that we wouldn’t face hardships in this world, but that He implores us to take heart, for He has overcome this world! Do I believe that? I guess I’m about to find out.
You’ll notice that the title of this essay is A Father’s Faith Tested, not A Father’s Faith Lost.
I will remain in my Lord, and He will remain in me. As Saint Peter so simply yet so eloquently stated, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”
Pray for me, my brothers and sisters. And please pray for my daughter and son-in-law. We may have a long and difficult road in front of us, but Christ will be at our sides.