Almost to the day when Danyiel was bartending and I ordered a first drink from her, when I could squeeze in time during her quite busy early-evening shift, she considered me a best friend. We really didn’t spend that much time together — again busy period in both of our lives — but when we did we were inseparable, one might say linked at the hip, although hers were much smaller than mine, and her blonde hair a bit bigger. Those were the days my friend …
Notice the past tense. Danyiel died exactly one year ago. She did not believe in an afterlife, but she has been proven wrong, as I know she is in a good place.
For family reasons she needed to move away from the Hudson area several years ago. Complex situation. Both Danyiel and I discussed the last time we had met up after her 10 p.m. shift ended, that this “separation anxiety,” to use the medical term, would be gut-wrenching. She died on her birthday — it was her 46th and last — a day we normally got together and exchanged greetings and maybe a sentimental but not too mushy card. But importantly, even after an autopsy, the coroner could not explain her cause of death in any medical terms. All I know is that she left this earth way too soon.
She had an uncommon beauty and although a very pleasant demeanor, possessed a slightly rough-edged charm, and was loyal to a fault, to me and others. You didn’t mess with Joe when Danyiel was around. One of the last times I saw her she was in a long flowing gown, on a dress-up holiday.
I had not seen Danyiel for the unusually long time of two weeks when she suddenly went into labor, and the birth was touch and go. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the child’s neck. I was alone at home, then suddenly overcome by a sense of urgent need. During the delivery, I was frozen in place for hours while lying in my bed, with moving muscles hardly possible. But I did not have fear, as I knew my trooper friend would pull through. And at that point, when all was saved and mom mother and child were OK, my spell lifted and I got back on my feet.
A time afterward, a co-worker and I discussed the timing of her situation, and my understanding of the time of birth proved more accurate.
Earlier, a dental procedure had been scheduled. It would be very painful, and considering the fact she was with child, could not have standard anesthesia. I told her the night before that since I was on deadline, and would have to sleep in, and the extraction was set for a ungodly early hour, this would be a great time to prove out my dream and premonition theory. Her response: “You do not need to sell me on this. We both know it occurs.”
Danyiel would on multiple occasions arrive back at home and before the day of cell phones, when land lines where the thing, make the pronouncement: I hurried to get back here, since I know and feel that Joe is going to call very soon. Then two minutes later, I would phone her and she would take my call.
One of those times was on MY birthday, surprise, and the result was Danyiel taking me out for dinner. It was a nice place with great food, but since it was Stillwater Tex-Mex, quite affordable.
Maybe not so much, the vehicle with which she pulled into the driveway, a small and cute and bright red sports car. With plenty of white trim inside, I recall. Danyiel being Danyiel, she had on a bit of a peekaboo top at its bottom end (this was the 1990s). Later, when she stretched to pick up the check, you couldn’t help but notice a bit of bellybutton glancing through. When I saw her and her ride pull up, I chuckled to myself, what would the neighbors think?
Like that matters to me now that she’s gone.
(P.S). The night before I posted this already-set copy, I had a dream about things that include the mortality of another person, which is fitting considering the anniversary that is today. Do readers see a pattern? So here we go again …
A relative, who is a bit older, and I had not seen in years shown forth at length in a dream, in part questioning a series of life choices that could be seen as questionable but in the along haul turned out OK, and where I was along that path. Let’s get together was the message, as all the scenarios involved much earlier times spent with me that even at the golf course, were great fun — like with Danyiel — but also could have transferred into more bittersweet, if fate would have taken the wrong turn. I awoke wondering if sis had reached out about it, concerning someone who upon further review, is like me and deals with things by being introspective and ruminating.
She had late the previous night, and the person was in a serious medical situation. It could cause a demise, although more medically explainable. There you go again and here I go.
Again, on such topics and many other facets of the journey, more in coming posts.
We don’t really know how a younger best friend died, just one year ago today, but when one looks at our history of being linked at the hip, as some have said about our psychic-ness, one could speculate … If you don’t believe in such, read the ending P.S.
Share the Post:
Related Posts
- ‘Urban Table’ reopens after five months, minus the olive and vine name, but keeping the same old ambiance. It adds a coffee and wine bar, $3 premium drinks prepared under the eye of a barista and the advanced eatery knowledge that comes from the new owner, Ben Jung, a face you’ll recognize from nearby Hudco To Go, who says music is on the way, too, back to this staple Hudson venue.
They’ve added a coffee bar, so you can have a foray of seating for four on stools in front of it, a wine bar and a petite table for two directly in front of the southwest window, and plenty of inexpensive drinks, but other than that The Urban Table as it is known is much like the former Urban Olive and Vine before it. The man who is the brains behind Hudco To Go has brought those $3 premium drinks and more to the restaurant that is kitty-corner to the, again, southwest when you take Locust Street and venture onto...
- What will Bruce, the top dogg, and Maiden mew about concerning the world when they make a stop in Shakopee? Plenty of tramau to pick from, even if they do not get irate about Iran, or emulate. But closer to home, others of my ilk have been to Italy and more lately, or just out in the garden tending to flowers and kitties.
So many problems in our world, US and UK. How and when to bitch? Waiting for them to be named by a sizeable band, if they shed light on politics and ethical behavior in general, can make you numb. Has anyone else noticed, as we get older and grayer, the similarity in facial look between two who are on vocals, first a rapper and second a metal singer, knotted-side-hair Snoop Dogg and long and straight-to-collar Bruce Dickinson, one who spews island drinks as opposed to the other homemade beer, as Iron Maiden continues on in their latest with a gigantic gaggle of groups with requisite...
- Deaths and memorials. They do not stop with that given by Miley Cyrus for Dolly Parton. In what follows, I recount the recent musical remembrances of a local musician, as his father lay passing, and that by me in song for my own dad. And the resemblances therein. And a dream reflecting it all. (And newly added, we’ll Curry favor and Frank, and more on Dolly and the God she is close to.)
Just over two years ago, I sang solo an Iron Maiden song, Blood Brothers, slowly strummed via my cell phone to provide the instrumental, as the exact moment my dad was laid to his final rest under clay. A few weeks ago, one-man-band professional Jeff Loven, one of the best musicians I have ever heard and one with whom I have sung for 25 years, strummed the favorite Johnny Cash songs his father loved in the background for the last hour his dad had on this earth, the troubles of which Cash so frequently sang. Certainly, one of them was Hurt,...
- Elsewhere on these pages: Bark at the cheese on the moon puns, and Brewers win 22-0 to reply while Twins sweep a contender. REplay to replenish.
- For a post that has some of the cheesiest trivia-type references this side of the moon partway through, search elsewhere on this site to see it now displayed
A hodgepodge listing of everything that’s truly different but maybe baked porage follows, and we’re not talking about a connect-the-dots or puzzle-pieces contest or one on Trump’s foreign policy, haha, rather what I saw and what will be seen around town in recent times. Mostly, one of each. Think you have the world’s, or more likely local church’s, best grilled cheese sandwich, (coming from the land of, specifically, well curded and curdled milk and honey?) Fry it to the test on Saturday. No this is not an autumn chili cookoff, or char the best burger, or even a poker run...