Milk

Dear Dan,

I saw "Milk" this evening. It's brilliant and Sean Penn certainly deserved the Oscar for his performance. The movie was as hard to watch as it was to live through. Funny, the ending didn't change either. There were sweet and funny bits but Harvey still won the seat but ultimately died for who he was.

Of course all I could think of was your love of San Francisco. That led me to think a lot about you. The suicide and the deaths in the film made me wonder all over again.

It's a very bad night.

I miss you.

Parking garages

Dear Dan,

Such a simple thing: pull into the parking garage, find a space and park. Well, not any more.

I wonder if there will ever come a day when I can park in a garage and not think of what happened one evening in July in Kansas City.

On occasion I drive to work and have to park in a parking garage of some sort. McAllister's lot only has 2 floors; one metered and one permit. Since it's on the side of a hill it almost doesn't count as 2 levels. Pugh Street has 5 floors. I don't like to drive higher than the second floor if I can help it.

Mom doesn't like going into garages at all. Sometimes she has to sit and wait in the car while I run in some place for a few minutes. I try not to park in a garage when she's with me but there are times it's unavoidable.

Scott won't go near a parking garage at all. I was going to take Scott to lunch one day and said something about meeting him downtown. Scott said "not in the parking garage!" I asked if it was because of you. He said yes.

I told Scott that particular garage doesn't have 7 floors. I can tell him every building in town that has 7 floors and that garage is not one of them.

Christmas cookies

Dear Dan,

I love the picture of you picking the cookies up off the floor. It makes me laugh to think I was talking to you on the phone at that time. It's almost like there was a connection and I didn't disappear from your life. It was a bit of a shock and yes, it hurt, that no one in KC even knew you had a sister.

I guess you kept all the different parts of your life separate from each other.

One year when I was in college I was so depressed one Christmas. I couldn't really have our usual tree because Scott had recently married Cathy and Nikki was a very young child. I was living upstairs and they were living downstairs.

You didn't want me to be depressed so you went out and bought me a tree that I could have in my room. I thought that was the most wonderful thing ever! I just wonder why you never let me try to help you.

Bad day

Dear Dan,

Today is a particularly bad day. I was scanning a photo of you last evening.The one with the Christmas cookies. This morning I drove to work and parked in the parking garage on Pugh Street. I never park in a parking garage that I don't think of you, of course, but today all I could think of was "What were Dan's thoughts in planning this?" "What was Dan thinking as he walked to the garage?" "Did Dan use the elevator or climb the stairs?" "What was Dan thinking as he climbed over the retaining wall?" "Was Dan crying?" "Did he change his mind after he jumped?" "What was his last thought?"

This line of thinking on my part is the worst thing I can do. It doesn't honor your life and it sends me into a downward spiral.

And then I cry.

Organ donation

Dear Dan,

I know you wanted to donate your organs. I got a call from the organ donation group in KC the day after you committed suicide. The woman on the other end was very nice. She was very delicate in describing the organs that could possibly be "harvested," depending on the damage done when you landed.

At that point I was so hopeful that something good could be salvaged from the situation. She mentioned the type of testing that would be done before the organs were donated. Of course I thought AIDS testing was a good idea. At that point she asked if you were gay. Apparently the FDA does not allow transplant from anyone with a history of any homosexual activity. None at all.

That's when I asked Brian point blank. I told him we always "knew" but   that you hadn't "come out" to us. Of course not. No more than you would have "come out" that your eyes were brown.

I called the woman back  and told her we had confirmation. That I was sorry but we could not donate your organs. One or two people would not see because they would not have your corneas. Two people would have to wait for other heart valves. You would not be donating bone marrow and helping someone with leukemia.

I understand the problem. My head tells me that the AIDS tests cannot tissue. My head tells me that you can test negative for viral load if you are on certain cocktails.

However, my heart tells me that they were rejecting my dear, now dead, brother. His last wish would not be granted. Almost as if he wasn't good enough!

As if your death was not heartache enough.

From my "myspace" page on July 26, 2007

"Daniel, My Brother
Current mood: gutted, devastated

To my dear brother:

I miss you. All the color has gone out of the world; the music has stopped and all laughter has ceased. My heart has been shattered. I know your pain is over. I wish you peace.

My pain has just begun and will have no end."

Dear Dan,

I wrote that the "day after." I still feel that way. There are days where I almost forget that you're no longer in this world; when I feel like I can pick up the phone and call. Then it all comes crashing back.

I used to call for advice. Since I can no longer do that I think back to the time I did and then ask myself "What would Dan say about this?" I fee calm come over me and then I can look at the situation with reason and logic.

Other days it's still completely overwhelming. I can't help but wonder how we got here.

I love you. I miss you. I pray you find peace. I hope you have already.

The back story

On July 25, 2007 Dan had a friend drive him to a bar in downtown Kansas City. At about 10:30 PM local time, Dan got out of the car, waited for the driver to pull away and walked about 15 minutes to a parking garage. On the top level - the seventh floor - Dan climbed on the wall and jumped.

At 5:00 AM the police came to mom's door and notified her. She called me and said the police were there looking for Dan. I lived at the back of her condo building so I told her I would be there right away. I grabbed my phone, called Dan and got his voicemail. I left a message saying the police were there, please call ASAP and asking "What the hell are you into? Let me know what I can do to help."

There was a knock on my door. A police woman was there. I told her to come on in while I grabbed my shoes. She came in and told me she had something to tell me before we went to mom's. That's when she told me Dan jumped. I looked at her and waited. She didn't say anything. I asked "Is he alive?" I was expecting to hear he was in the hospital in KC and in my mind I was already making plans to take care of him. The police woman said "No."

And that, my friends, is when the world crashed to a halt.

It still amazes me that no one else heard the crashing sound. No one else felt the earth slam on its brakes. How is it that people were still asleep and didn't know the world ended?

For the past 14 months I've been dealing with this loss and all the emotion and legal issues that accompany death. Sometimes well and sometimes not.

This is my life with and without Dan.