In Loving Memory of my brother, Danny. 6/19/62 - 12/12/09

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Dan, or Danny Pops as my parents affectionately called him when he was little, lived a hard life. Diagnosed with “Hyperkinesias” as a youngster, (that’s Attention Deficit Disorder with Hyperactivity [ADHD] in the modern parlance,) he was institutionalized when he was about six. Today, we understand a lot more about these busy little people but then it was considered a mental/medical condition. He was put on Ritalin.

Can't you just feel the energy in his little body? I'm the pigtailed one in yellow.  He's the rascal second to the end on the right.

Can't you just feel the energy in his little body? I'm the pigtailed one in yellow.  He's the rascal second to the end on the right.

This was not a good combination for a boy with an alcoholic, non-involved dad.

Over time, Danny’s naturally happy inquisitive disposition began to change. I can’t remember how long he was in that group home. As a young teenager, he began using alcohol and marijuana. His school attendance was nonexistence after eighth grade. (Something that boggles our minds as we look back on it.) I suspect he probably had some learning challenges such as dyslexia.

But Dan was also brilliant in his own way. He loved electronics and creating inventions. And his happy disposition was reflected in his love for Christmas lights, which he would adorn his bedroom walls with year round.

He loved classic rock and cartoons…especially Woody Woodpecker. And he was always in motion. Always jiggling a leg when he sat. And always, no doubt, bearing pain in his soul that one could never understand unless they too experienced it.

But when he was drinking or smoking pot, things were another story. At first, I wonder if he was simply self-medicating the busyness in his head. Or the pain of his early years and the pain of an absent dad for a boy who desperately needed one.

As an adult, Dan lived most of his days on the streets. Once, he happily told me about the car he was able to purchase once because it was comfortable to sleep in.

By then, his mental health issues were becoming more apparent. We worried if he was too hot. Worried if he too cold. Worried if he had enough to eat. And we hurt thinking about him.

We loved him…..and were angered by him.

Relationship with him over the recent past few years had been minimal. I was nervous and scared about seeing him again. Fear has a way of building up walls.

But yet through it all, Dan’s love and happy personality would still shine through. He never wavered on his love for family, even in his darkest days.

We knew an early death was a strong possibility. With a lousy family medical history and his harsh lifestyle, we knew in a sequestered part of our minds that this did not bode well for his future.

But it still did not prepare us for December 10 when he called my sister. He was very afraid. He thought he was having a heart attack.

Oh God. Please no. I furiously contacted the hospital to send an ambulance.  9-1-1 doesn't work when you're calling from out of state.

He landed in the emergency room and I talked to him after his initial assessment.  It was clear he was in trouble but with what was unknown.  Dan know instinctively that his meter was running out. Between our sobs, we expressed our love for one another. And he asked about the family. How’s Jay’s job going? How old are the kids now? Mundane stuff. The stuff of life.

Certainly, they’ll treat him and send him on his way. Perhaps this will be his wake up call.  But this wasn't happening.  Despite the interventions, Dan's symptoms worsened.

He was admitted to the ICU shortly afterward; and the phone calls back and forth to family began. My God. This is serious. I spoke with him again; it was hard for him to talk because of all the tubes, he said. I miss you so much, he said, crying.

The vigil stretched into a sleepness night. The nurse called me early the next morning to say that “Dan had a very bad night.”

Things are very bad indeed when an ICU nurse mentions “a bad night.” Dan was placed on life support.

I talk to the doctor; they either life flight him, or he dies, he says.

I don’t want my Danny Pops to be alone. Oh God, please. I don’t want him to die alone. I don’t want him to go to Great Falls where he’ll be alone. But he will die if doesn’t go, the doctor said.

I saw God show up…in the flesh…through the kindness of my friend, Chrissy.  Chrissy is also a nurse.  She got there before they transferred him and stroked his arm and told him that his sisters loved him very much. “I don’t know if he liked me stroking his head. Did you know he was bald?” she said with a chuckle. She watched his racing pulse rate slow down while she comforted him. 

She told me she kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear he was loved.

And I lost it.

My sister Colleen booked a flight and was on her way. Would she make it in time?

Dan survived the life flight. Further testing determined his liver was shutting down. And I talked to more angels…nurses and doctors and unit secretaries. Their names are a blur. We’re doing all we can, they say. But he’s a very sick man.

I tell them he lived a hard life, but that he is treasured and loved. Please comfort him; tell him he is loved.

Chrissy arrived late afternoon. She was working in the area earlier in the day and knew I didn’t want Dan alone so she held off on the 90-mile drive home. She stayed and gave me a nursing update. She assured me of the quality of the staff there and their kind care.

Chrissy said, “I kept telling him, ‘Colleen’s on the way. Hang in there. It’s Friday, December 10, 2009 and it’s 6:30. Colleen will be here in five hours.’”

Colleen arrived in Dan’s room by midnight.

She sat by Dan’s bed until 4:30 am. Dan knew she was there, she said. But his life was draining.

By morning, the awful decision was made. His organs were shut down.

My prayer changed to, “God, I don’t want Colleen to be alone when the end comes.”

And God wasn’t through making his presence known.

We had called our good friend Fred; he lives north of the hospital 90 miles or so and is a pastor. If you’re able to, Fred, no pressure. We know it’s a drive. Fred’s the sort of guy you like to hang out with if you’re hurting. He reminds us of Jesus in a lot of ways.

Fred arrived just 10 minutes before The Moment.

“He wanted to go home,” Fred said. “It was very peaceful.” And he gave Colleen plenty of hugs.

Today, I signed the form consenting to cremation. I told the lady at the funeral home, “I know he’s not there but would you tell him again that I love him?”

She told me that she would. Her kindness brought another wave of tears.

So, while I grieve his life and his death, I am also deeply touch at how Dan, in his deepest most vulnerable moments, brought out the absolute best in people in his final hours.

And when I see the needy or the alcoholic or the homeless, I will always remember a happy boy nicknamed Danny Pops and how life doesn’t turn out the way we want them to sometimes.

I will remember the Scripture that says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted.” He is also close to the broken. And I will remember how God raced into the middle of tremendous pain and sorrow, sending angels, both seen and unseen, to comfort Dan.

But today, I am very, very sad. He was greatly loved, you know.

Dan departed this earth and Mom, Dad and sister Mary welcomed him into heaven.