Dear Danny…

 Dear Danny,

The day you passed away I pulled out my vinyl record of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers Damn the Torpedoes. In 1983, when I was first getting to know you, this music was a connecting piece. I still recall our conversation, mostly because it was the first time I really had an opportunity to get to know you.

Over the years there have been many happy and sad times. Although we haven't seen you in many years, our conversations over the past decade or so have been focused on health and housing issues you've faced. But there were light moments and connecting moments that mattered.

I heard many conversations your dad had with you, so I know that he was doing his best to point you in the right directions, as good dads do. I know your brothers talked straight to you as well. It has always been distressing to us that you couldn't help yourself, or let others help you.

Water under the bridge now.

***

You visited us a couple times in Florida, and I recall fondly how you and your dad spent most days hanging out by the lake fishing. We always laughed a lot during your visits because, face it, you were always doing something crazy to make us laugh. Dan the Man could be Dan the Clown.

The last time I spoke with you was after you recovered from another serious situation. We had received a call with the expectation you would not live. Yet, a few weeks later we were on the phone with you, laughing about your nine lives. It was good to be joyful with you that day, and I'm glad we had that conversation, even if it was a harbinger that the number nine was on the horizon.

The day after you passed, I pulled out my vinyl On the Border by the Eagles. I see a note I put on the record that I received in on my birthday, August 6, 1975. That was the year my brother had died in April, and I was still in the midst of grief.

There is a song on this album that always meant a lot to me: "My Man" by Bernie Leadon. The song was written for Gram Parsons, a forward-thinking musician who died of an overdose at 27-years-old. The words to the song often made me cry, thinking of my brother Richie, and the impact death has on the living. On this day it was not lost to me that my tears were for you this time: you, coincidentally born the same year as my brother (1965); you who struggled with addiction like Gram Parsons; you who liked to be "Dan the Man." The words that get me, and I will leave you with, are from the chorus.

Now my man's got it made

He's gone far beyond the pain

And we who must remain

Go on living just the same

We who must remain

Go on laughing just the same