Remembering Dani
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
After learning of my friend Dani’s death on July 12, 2021, I fell silent for two days. At the time, remaining quiet made me feel safe. More importantly, I thought it kept Dani safe. I deeply tucked her away so no one could hurt her.
When I finally let out the word overdose, I saw people’s eyes narrow and reduce her to nothing but the drug that killed her. I stood hollow, a battered shield, warding off the wrongful judgments hurled at her spirit:
“Junkees get what they deserve.”
“Once an addict, always an addict.”
“Some people just can’t pull themselves together.”
Truth is, Dani’s life was infinitely more remarkable than the drug that killed her. The first time I met Dani, I was awestruck by her presence. She stood with confidence and a wide, inviting smile. She wore gold earrings that were abstract outlines of a woman’s face, a stylish septum nose ring, and a hippie, paisley printed headband holding her tight, black curls away from her face. When she greeted me with an obligatory midwestern hug, I smelled the scent of rich amber and warm vanilla on her skin. She brought me to her reptile habitats in her college apartment, and insisted I meet her little “parakeet.” She reached down into the glass enclosure and pulled out a 5 ft ball python and asked, “Want to hold her?” In pure shock, expecting a small bird, I froze as Dani quickly draped her snake around her neck. I quickly realized “parakeet” was an endearing term.
The snake curled its tail gently around her forearm, and affectionately rubbed its face against her chin. Dani noticed the fear in my eyes, and continued, “This is Sams, the snake. Don’t be shy, she’s a total sweetie. Want to pet her instead? Snakes are totally misunderstood creatures.” At that moment, I formed a bond of trust with Dani, as I stroked her slimy, scaly snake-baby. In my eyes, she was fearless and had a heart so open, even the coldest blooded creatures were warmed in her presence. Everyone around her knew her capacity for love was unyielding in the way she let her snakes slither around her arms and her geckos crawl across her shoulders. There was something always so beautiful and pure about her love for the misunderstood.
Dani and I didn’t talk about her history with substance abuse. I found out about it because as I got to know her better, I met more of her friends and acquaintances. Many of whom she met in recovery groups. Anytime they would see her out in public, they would give her the biggest hug, and tell her about their successes or challenges while in recovery. Her friends would say to me, “Dani saved my life. She’s my guardian angel.” They always parted with “Text me anytime,” “Here for you always,” or “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.” I never asked Dani questions. I figured when the moment in our friendship was right, she would share her story with me. All I needed to know at the moment was that she helped others in ways I never could understand.
When Dani graduated with honors from her Master’s program, she shared with me that she was moving to North Carolina with an amazing job opportunity. All the stars seemed to be aligned for Dani until her grandmother suddenly passed. The loss was too great a burden for her heart. The night before her grandmother's funeral Dani fatally overdosed. Gone too soon at the age of twenty-seven, Dani was finally at peace with the internal battle not many got to see, hear, or understand. Sometimes, I wish I could have been there for her the way she was there for me. I can’t say for sure, but I think she felt like she needed to hide that part of her. She wanted to give as much of herself to others to block out the noise from her own challenges inside. Thus, she shielded herself to protect the ones she loved.
Arriving at Dani’s celebration of life at Doctors Park in Fox Point, WI, I walked up to her mom. We didn’t say a word, but wrapped our arms around each other tighter and tighter as tears ran down our faces. Our hearts touched and we knew. Everyone there was quiet, all that could be heard was the crash of waves on Lake Michigan. It’s hard to talk about it. Overdose happens to women everyday and it still feels too taboo to mention. Somehow people cast those women aside, marking them as subaltern. Dani’s death made me question, what if we stopped erasing these women with judgment, and started highlighting the things that make them undeniably human? Let’s honor their life, including the hard-to-talk-about parts. I don’t want to hide Dani anymore, I want to share her story. Erasing her because of a drug, only gives the drug more power. Let’s inspire other women to be able to tell their story while they are still here. The stories will not all be the same, but maybe we find community in our similarities and differences. Maybe we elevate voices, instead of silencing them. Make them heard. And, maybe we even find a place in our hearts to love the misunderstood, like Dani did.
A fire ignited in me after Dani passed. I felt the need to create an inclusive environment for misunderstood women in my community; women that work alongside us everyday but are overlooked. I wanted to find ways to spotlight these underrepresented women and a safe space for them to share their story. In memoriam of Dani, I created GirlPWRD.