Today my dad would have been 76 years old. He died just over a year ago, a week shy of his 75th birthday. He always hated his birthday - January 3rd - it was always the first day of school after the Christmas holidays. I’ve never been one for anniversaries or birthdays, but I certainly understand their significance. If nothing more it’s a day to reflect. It’s hard to believe it’s been a year.
These photos are deeply personal, and I’ve debated whether to share them or not. In the end, I thought that maybe these would help someone going through something similar, or at the very least, help to still remember Danny for the amazing human he was. I don’t want to forget, and yet inevitably, the memories are fading. Not of the man himself, but of the details…the small stuff we think we’ll never forget.
And I guess that’s what I want to talk about more than anything- just how much of a delight he was to be around in his final days, even as he was suffering just about as much as a human can suffer. I spent a lot of time with him his final year, most of which was spent in Houston, in a hotel room, and honestly I wouldn’t have it any other way. Obviously I would have loved for the outcome to be different, but I wouldn’t give up that time we spent together for anything. We watched a lot of football and ate a lot of crappy hotel food, but we also had some amazing conversations. In the end you learn to be curious about the things that you might not have ever thought about. That’s the one silver lining with cancer- you have the time to say what you want.
Houston’s medical corridor is a hot concrete jungle. We would take nightly walks in search of shade and quickly found a little park next to a concrete river and claimed it as our own. It wasn’t very far from the hotel, but Danny’s endurance wasn’t what it once was and he tired quickly. Still, we both looked forward to these walks. They became our reprieve from reality.
I learned so much from him, especially in those final months. He was such a rock, even at his physical weakest. I think everyone who knew him felt this way. He was a natural leader, someone who lead by example. He was so smart and had a brilliant career to show for it, yet he was the most humble man I’ve ever known. Material possessions meant almost nothing to him. Relationships were everything. He gave so much money away it was shocking. He uplifted others. He was genuinely happy. He was a joy to be around.
I guess that’s why ultimately I am at peace with it. He was at peace. He had such an understanding of life and what it meant to live that it actually feels ok that he’s not here. It’s hard to describe, I still want him here so bad. But he had nothing left to do, or prove. He gave it everything and had zero regrets. What else can you ask for?
We should all strive to be like Danny. He truly had it figured out. We still grieve for him and always will. Grief is just all the love we didn’t get to express in this life. It’s stuck inside and feels like it has no place to go. But in a strange way, grief can be comforting.
Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him. I miss him like crazy and it kills me when I think about how obsessed he would be with Georgia, and vice versa. God, he loved her. But I am so glad I got 37 great years with him. I am the man I am today because of him. I am grateful for his example of how to live this life. Here’s to living like Danny.
Onward!