In the words of Dorothy Zbornak, “I’m mad today because I never wanted to give the eulogy at my kid brother’s funeral”.

Although we have said our earthly goodbyes to Dan without a formal funeral service and this won’t be a traditional eulogy, I thought I would take one last opportunity to share my thoughts, feelings, and hope for the future.

Dan.  Such a simple name.  That name means so many different things to people who have had the opportunity to know him.  Did you know him as a child?  As the kid who helped organize and play in neighborhood pickup games like baseball, basketball, football or hockey before cell phones existed?  Did you play kick-the-can with him at night until your parents made you come home?  Did you rollerblade the streets or four wheel the trails, dive off PI pit, fish at Mott Pit until the cops kicked you out?  Were you on his high school hockey team where he was known as “The Wall”?  Did you play high school and summer baseball with him or later in life, bar league?  Did you play bags together, pool, dart, golf?  Did you duck hunt in the early hours of the morning in the cold, wet blind with Maggie? How about fishing Hoodoo Point, the Boundary Waters, Vermilion or Lake of the Woods?  Anyone that knew Danny during this time of his life, knows that he WAS A GREAT KID who turned into a very thoughtful, fun, fearless, innovative young man.  A young man that made a lasting impression on all those that he encountered.  I’ve heard people describe Dan as “nice, kind, fun, caring, thoughtful, helpful, supportive”.  I would have described him as shy, introverted, loyal and adorable. 

The hard truth of the matter is, I didn’t know Dan.  Addiction took that relationship from me.  Addiction to drugs and alcohol that started innocently enough at the age of 18 per Dan.  He never told any of his family that he started messing around with drugs at a much earlier age, maybe just pot and alcohol, and it may seem inexplicable that a young, popular, talented athlete would start fooling around with something that would be so destructive and harmful.  It was a behavior that would ultimately end up defining much of his life.

Dan had an amazing childhood.  He enjoyed camping, hunting, fishing, spending time with friends.  He had a supportive family that gave all they could to his happiness.  He wasn’t abused or neglected.  He wasn’t a child born from addiction.  He would later tell his cousin Mel in their last conversation together “People usually use because they had a bad upbringing or some childhood trauma.  It was never that for me.  I had the best parents.  The best upbringing.”  But life, in its unpredictable nature, threw challenges at him that were unsurmountable.  The cruel clutches of addiction found their way into his life, clouding his vision, stifling his dreams, and gradually dimming the bright light that he once was for all those that knew and loved him.

What I want most for Dan’s memory is that we do not define him by the circumstances of his passing.  He was more than his struggles.  In this journey we call life, some walk a path with more obstacles and darkness than others.  Dan found himself caught in a battle that many do not fully understand, a battle that claimed the vibrancy of his late adolescence, the sparkle in his eyes and ultimately, his precious life.  Let us also recognize the harsh realities of addiction, a disease that does not discriminate, that claims lives with ruthless indifference.  While Dan did not die of an overdose or acute drug use, in the end, it was the addiction that affected his organs to the point of no return.  As we bid Dan a farewell, le us also commit to fostering a world that understands the complexities of addiction, that approaches this issue with companion, empathy, and a desire to heal.  Let us send him off with love, with grace, with the hope that he has found peace and solace in a place free from pain, free from suffering, free from the chains that bound him in this life.

I take comfort in knowing that Dan is surrounded by light, free from the struggles that haunted him.  I would have loved for Dan to be able to experience that freedom in this lifetime.  My grief over losing him is infinite.  And now so is he.  Rest in peace Little Brother.

Signing off,

Laura

PS: Thank you again to all that have supported our family during this journey.  There are too many of you to thank individually but I hope that you know that every word, every gesture, ever prayer was heard, felt and appreciated.