Today marks the sixth anniversary of the day we lost our Danny. Since that painful day, the stings of loss and the feeling like I may not be able to survive his death have subsided. But this day, April 20th, is a day I dread to face each year. I am sure that feeling will never go away, no matter how many anniversaries we mark. In the days leading up to this anniversary and days afterwards, I find myself reliving the horrible events of this day and the months that followed. Generally, the anniversary is a silent reminder of the day he died. Maybe a non-chalant phone call to Mom, Jake and Sara. Other than that, my family and I all try to move past this day as best we can, only to look onto the second hardest day of the year, April 30th – his birthday. Just 10 days, 10 days and we would have been celebrating a big milestone in his life – his 16th birthday.
For me, the worse part of loosing someone so important to me is feeling a never-ending void. A void filled with questions and wondering who he would have grown into and what our life would have been like if he was still here. Would he be dating or married? Would he have gone to school? Would he love his job? Where would he live? There was a void at my wedding where Danny should have been. And there is a void in Addison’s life, where Uncle Danny should have been part of.
Death is difficult, no matter the circumstance. Loosing a person you love who is young is especially difficult. But loosing someone to suicide is inconceivable. When someone dies in a car wreck or dies after living a long, full life our minds can understand that. An tragic accident or illness happened and then that person died. We are able to accept the loss and hopefully, in time, we can move on. We don’t forget or ever stop missing that person, but we are able to move on. Suicide is literally incomprehensible.
To this day, I still cannot understand what possibly was going on inside his sweet, young mind to make him think that was his ONLY solution. Thinking of it makes me angry – still, 6 years later. I will never, ever stop being mad at him. Why didn’t he call me? He always called Sara or I with problems. Why didn’t he think of his family, how we would feel to loose him? What happened that he felt he couldn’t go on? Pointless, one sided argument, I know. It’s the curse of suicide. I may never be able to move on – fully, peacefully. I will never be able to wrap my mind around his death.
I still feel him constantly. His presence is still strong. When the snow sparkles and when the sun rays break through a dark, storm cloud I think of him. I stop and breath him in. Certain songs that randomly play on the radio make me pull over for a long cry. I dream of him regularly. Usually they are happy dreams, mostly me hugging him and not letting him go and him laughing and rubbing my hair into knots like he always did or running his fingers down the my face (This used to drive me insane because his hands were always clammy and it grossed me out. Now I would give anything to feel that again). He always looks the same – he never ages.
My very last day with Danny and the conversation we had remains in the front of my mind like it happened yesterday. To this day I have told only two people this and now after 6 years I feel like I can share this private and what seemed at the time a very simple, uneventful moment spent together. The last time Danny and I were together Danny, Jake and I were folfing at Pattee Canyon Folf Course – I haven’t folfed since. We talked about relationships and particularly Dylan and I’s relationships. Although several years younger than me, he often took a big brother role and was always looking out for my best interest and giving me advice! That is a memory I want to cement in stone and I want nothing clouding it. I used to think that sharing this memory would some how taint it – unpreserve it.
With the help of some pretty intense therapy sessions, I am able to close my eyes and not have the first image of Danny be what my mind automatically took me to, the image of him lying, dead. I am able to remember Danny’s life and not focus on his death. The past six years have literally been a constant struggle to achieve this. I expect this to remain apart of me, forever.
To say the very least, Danny is missed. Deeply, painfully missed. He was an amazing person and it isn’t fair what happened. It isn’t fair he felt he had no where to turn for help. His smiles and his laugh is burned onto my heart forever. The day I get to wrap my arms around him again will be a glorious day. I may spend a majority of eternity never him letting go.
I love you little Brother and I always will. I hope and pray you died knowing that.
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