Dear family and friends,
A year ago today, on a warm afternoon, I moved Danny in his wheelchair
out to the backyard. I was reading "The Ramayana" to him when I
noticed he was sweating and clammy. I checked his blood pressure and
it was way too low, so Lynn and I took him to the hospital, figuring
Danny would be given some tests and probably antibiotics. We regretted
that we might not get home in time to watch a DVD we'd been looking
forward to. Twenty-four hours later, on May 18th, Danny passed. The
day after that, the 19th, was his 23rd birthday.
With those anniversaries upon us, we're doing all right. Andy and
Tricia's twins, born on May 5th, have given us a sweet outlet for all
the love that's needed a means of expression since Danny passed.
Today, we're going to visit with some friends from India, Jal and
Dolly Dastur. Tomorrow Lynn, Katie and I are going to Meher Mount, a
Meher Baba retreat on a mountain top in Ojai (about 2 hours away), and
then Misti will join us for dinner with Andy, Tricia, Sophie and Sadie.
In the past few months, I've had some bouts of sorrow and anxiety. One
of them was brought on by a traffic accident you may have heard about
in the news. A pitcher for the L.A. Angels, Nick Adenhart, was killed
when the car in which he was a passenger was blind-sided by a drunk
driver (as in Danny's case, the driver had prior convictions). The
girl driving Nick was also killed. There were two other passengers in
the car, two great kids who had gone to high school with Danny. One of
them, Henry Pearson, was killed, and the other, Jon Wilhite, was
severely injured and required multiple neck surgeries to save his
life. He is now in rehab and it remains to be seen how fully he can
come back. Jonny was a good friend to Danny who attended the memorial
program here last year.
In grieving for the families of those kids, I found myself
experiencing more grief over Danny's loss than I had before. I thought
I had processed his passing and emerged on the other side of the
sorrow. But the accident made me realize I'd stuffed a lot of emotion
deep inside and it was important for it to come out. I got some help
from an Ayurvedic physician who prescribed herbs and breathing
exercises and I started taking yoga classes.
Funny, it seems that everything that I once made fun of, I eventually
embrace. Like yoga. And bird-watching. And cargo pants. Back in
college, I laughed at people who were into eastern mysticism, and now
look at me. Clearly, I have to be more careful about what I make fun
of. Thankfully, I've yet to feel any urge to wear gold necklaces or
overbearing cologne. Or vote for Sarah Palin.
I recently wrote to my friend Chip Brown (whose writing, which appears
regularly in the NY Times Magazine, always moves and intimidates me).
I told him that much of my recent sadness has been rooted in the
realization that after defining myself as Danny's Dad for 23 years, I
had to face up to the fact that I'm suddenly no longer a father.
In Chip's reply, he urged me to gather the emails I've sent and write
a book, and he lifted my spirits considerably by writing, "You are not
suddenly not a father now. You have been, are, and will always be a
father. You have gone through the most intense experience a father can
go through, and going through that doesn't mean you stop being a
father, maybe it means that you finally know what it means to be a
father. You don't have your boy in hand, but he is everywhere else."
I think I'll take a crack at that book. And while I'm feeling somewhat
fragile nowadays, overall I'm back to feeling very grateful. Grateful
to have had such a wonderful son and friend in Danny. Grateful to have
been blessed with a remarkable wife and loving family. Grateful for
all the love and support we continue to receive from so many people
like you. Grateful that, unlike the parents of the young people killed
in that accident, we got to have Danny with us for nearly three years,
and he got to tell us that he was happy and never sad or scared.
Grateful that I got to learn so much from him about courage and love,
and grateful for the messages he spelled out which I will always keep
in mind, heart and soul: "God's love is real," and "Nothing is real
but God".
Love,
Jeff
p.s. While we had remarkable insurance (through the Writers Guild)
that covered most of Danny's more than $600,000 in medical costs, Jon
Wilhite does not, and the costs of his rehab are mounting. If you can
afford to help him and feel inclined, donations can be made to a tax-
deductible account set up through Manhattan Beach Little League by
mailing a check to: Manhattan Beach Little League, P.O. Box 3512,
Manhattan Beach, CA 90266, with “Jon Wilhite Recovery Fund” written in
on the memo line. Or you can transfer or wire funds to the Jon Wilhite
Recovery Fund, account 3980643658, at any Wells Fargo Bank branch.
p.p.s. Danny's old band mates, Sherif, Brian and Ediz, with bassist
Danny Holmes (who has quickly become just as much family to us as the
other boys) have formed a new band called "the Ofersures". They made a
CD, "New Songs For Old Friends", which they dedicated to our Danny.
The inside sleeve features a photo of Danny's guitar and the
inscription, "You continue to inspire us." If you go to their MySpace
page: <http://www.myspace.com/theofersures> the first song that comes
up is "Say Goodnight, Say Goodbye", a tribute to Danny, "the soul that
never dies". It's a rousing Irish-sounding anthem that brought us
tears and chills a few weeks back when the boys played it at a local
club and some 200 people raised their glasses and sang along on the
chorus.
The CD can be purchased on their website and will soon be available on
iTunes (I'll let you know when). Song #14, "The Way I See The World"
features a new harmonica player named Jeff Maguire. Can't really
describe him as "promising" since he fulfills whatever promise he had
on this one track. But I had a great time and it was an honor to be
included.
"Let nothing upset you;
Let nothing frighten you.
Everything is changing;
God alone is changeless.
Patience attains the goal.
Who has God lacks nothing;
God alone fills every need."
-St. Teresa of Avila
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