In Memoriam, Daniel J. Whitfield.

There are few people in the world of whom you might say, “No, God. Take me, instead.” Dan Whitfield was one of those such people. And despite that, last week, God took him instead of me. I suspect this less to do with Dan “fulfilling his purpose” on Earth, and more to do with the fact that looking at this planet right now, God needed some cheering up.

Because that’s what Dan did to everyone. And it’s what he’s still doing wherever he is right now. Upon hearing of his passing, someone made the public observation that he might be hanging out with Shakespeare, who was born just a few miles down the road  from him in the West Midlands of England. My suspicion is he might’ve first sought some previously departed family members, before slinking off to find a group of Aston Villa fans with whom to watch this Saturday’s friendly match against my team, Manchester United. For the first time in my life, in tribute to Dan, I’ll be cheering on the Villa this weekend. Good thing it’s only a friendly.

The good news is that in just 39 years, Dan achieved enough for a life time. A loving and loved husband, a father of three wonderful daughters, a published author, and an indispensable friend, brother, and son. Dan – who moved to the United States before marrying the love of his life Nena – always seemed to be able to take your problems away with a nod and a wave. And while eternally curious, sometimes to the point of suspicion, he was also incredibly trusting.

“Go on then, our kid, you lead the way,” he’d say, entrusting you with the journey, and only commandeering the situation if it got really out of hand, which it sometimes did.

And as much as Dan will be missed by his family and friends, he will leave an equally massive hole in his professional life. As a copywriter extraordinaire, his work was imperative in raising funds for the conservative causes he was passionate about, and also for those – both human and animal – who have a lesser ability to take care of themselves. Dan and Nena had recently moved from Washington, D.C. to Florida, a fact I was reminded of just last week when Dan text me to remind me that I need to move down there, too.

He was always right about these things, and was one of the main reasons I felt comfortable moving to Washington, D.C., too. With a friend like Dan to drag to Fado to watch the match on a Saturday morning, what could go wrong?

He was also one of the first people to actually show me D.C., which I had briefly visited for conferences and meetings. But I never had such an experience as Dan showed me when I first arrived alone in 2010. At the time, he was living in Virginia, and working at the Leadership Institute.

“Come to Falls Church, mate, it’s great out here, we’re just having a few bevvies and then we’ll head out tonight.” I deferred to his wisdom, and arrived to a room full of young ladies in bikinis, and Dan’s grinning face. He took me in the kitchen, asked what I wanted to drink, and then opened the microwave. Inside stood a Smirnoff Ice. I asked him what it was doing in the microwave. He explained that he had just “Iced” me, and that I needed to chug the entire bottle. The rest of that night in a our early 20s went similarly, as we flitted and slipped through Clarendon’s intern-heavy bars, having our way with the world.

But as much as mischief brought a cheeky grin to his face – and surely I saw enough of that – I’d never seen Dan so happy as when he was with Nena.

“I want what you want,” was the phrase I heard him say most to his loving wife. And he meant it. Whatever made Nena happy made Dan happy. And what seemed to make Nena happy the last time I visited with them was the care and love he showed their three young daughters: Dagny, Magnolia, and Zora.

I consider myself lucky to have been able to enjoy many meals, many occasions, and many, many beers with Mr. Whitfield. Judging by the outpouring of disbelief at his passing, I dare say literally everyone who encountered him feels the same way. If I may commandeer them all for a moment, I want to say: thank you, Dan.

And if there can be a little comfort for the short time the rest of us spend on Earth without you, let it be this: I now know that I’ll be welcomed, taken care of, and perhaps even “Iced” when I meet you on the other side.

Go on then, our kid, it’s your turn to lead the way.