05/28/2026
I remember coming home the day after my trip to Texas, to comfort my parents after my sister died. She was 27. I broke. After holding it together for over a painstaking year dry, withstanding the urge as my Dad tried to convince me to drink “just one beer” with him while he grieved the loss of the only daughter who lived with him her whole life. I held back tears to comfort my step-mom, listening to her tell my sisters and I that life had no meaning now, as if WE weren’t meaning enough, after spending years as “her” daughters. I dropped everything the second I learned the news. I immediately booked a flight, and I went without a second thought. I held it all in… until I hit the comfort of my own home, those who really love me unconditionally, and I just had to cry. I sobbed…. HARD. I was deep in sorrow. Feeling pitiful, guilty, pathetic.
Why was this happening to me? Why now? The cherry on top was my sweet, compassionate husband. He had this look on his face like, “why are you crying?”
“EXCUSE ME. WHAT?” (Look of disgust and distain radiating holes through him). “Fuuuuuuuuhhhhh-Q, sir.”
And that was the perfect excuse. All I needed to drive my pitiful self to the gas station and fill my empty gut with the sweet, sweet relief of the most potent bottle of liquid “forget about it” I could find. And you know what? It worked. Until it didn’t… which was about 10 hours later, when I woke up hung over and full of regret.
Now MORE pathetic and in pain than I had been before. “Did I make a fool of myself? What happened? Does Ben know? Did I fall asleep? Maybe I’ll just say good morning and see what his reaction is… ugh, this sucks. I hate this… I hate myself.” And just like that, the cycle continued another… however long, until I finally got my s**t together (sort of; no one is perfect - right)?
All this to say, as my cycle of addiction continued, fueled by anger - nay - RAGE, sorrow, pity, and an entire host of negative feelings deep in my soul, I lost complete sight of the entire point of where it all began (this particular time). With Danielle. My sweet, sassy, pain on the ass, thoughtful and emotionally scarred little sister. Danielle.
Of all the things she was to me, her strength in trying times is something I admire and miss most. That little fighter gave everything she had to claw tooth and nail to be who she was, unapologetically. Unabashedly. Unfazed or bothered by who anyone else thought she should or could be or what she should be doing. I know she did care but she made not caring look so damn effortless. So cool. So… her. I never knew and have yet to meet a person stronger than Danielle.
Sometimes, when s**t gets real, I think of her strength. What Danielle endured every day of her life, for almost her entire life, before she decided, on her time (and you can’t convince e me otherwise) that she was finally done with the rest of the world’s petty bulls**t; was nothing short of amazing. I know everyone’s story is different, but damn if this doesn’t keep me sober from time to time.
For those who don’t know, I’ll have to fill you in one of these days, but for now you’ll just have to trust me when I say the girl had 9 lives, 100 scars, and under 30 years to live them. A full blown fabulous FORCE. I rarely talk about her but I want to say to everyone I know that I am lucky to have lived each moment I had with her. They were fleeting and too few, but I remember every precious moment.
This is one place I end up when I am digging deep for strength. I go here because I know, beyond any reasonable explanation, that Dani “gets it.” She is out there somewhere in the ether, giving me a wee bit of that fierce fire she held so steadfast. Nearly 4 years into my sober journey and I still have to look “up” to my little sister for guidance. I’m not that strong. I’m not that fierce. I’m not brave or tough, but I know it takes a village, and that’s why I’m here. To be a part of yours. In case you need a Danielle, but you don’t have one. Or maybe you do, and that’s awesome. There can never be too many.
lets support each other. Let’s be a village.
For all the Danielle’s.
**All of my writing is my own, so it’s raw. Take it or leave it, but AI doesn’t touch it.***
