By Jacqui Flint
Danice Day disappeared in early January. Many stories have been printed about her disappearance and the investigation into her death. In addition, plenty of rumors have floated around the area, but at this point no one can say the true story of her possible death. This, of course, is very important to my family and I, but perhaps equally important to me is to remember who she was as a person. Danice was much more than a nineteen year-old waitress, she was my little sister.
My mother said that when she was expecting Danice, we, my mother, Rod (my stepfather), older sister and I, were all very excited. "She would be the bridge connecting us all," my mom said. From the time she was first brought home from the hospital, I knew my mother was right. She was going to be very special. My mother layed her on the couch in the living room. I layed my head next to her so I would be facing her. I was overjoyed by the fact that there was someone new in the house. Even though I was only six at the time, she became my best friend and I always wanted to take care of her.
I looked forward to going home every day after school because I could see Danice. I think I had this bond with her from the very start. I think she knew I was going to be there for her and I always tried to be. It was something inherent in both of us. I remember when I was eight and she must have been two or three, we both got the chicken pox about a week before Christmas. We got to spend the whole week at home together itching ourselves and being silly. We were jumping on the couches and destroying the house. I am sure our mother couldn't wait for them to heal so I could go back to school and stop egging Danice on. There was one particular pock that I remember very clearly. It was on the right side of her nose and the scar never went away. Every time I looked at her, I was reminded of the week of the chicken pox.
When it was time for Danice to start school, I couldn't wait to take her to her first day of kindergarten.. I think I even helped her lay out her clothes the night before and got her up the next morning. I walked with her to school and was actually very sad that she would be in school. It was almost as if I wanted her all for myself and didn't want to share her with the other kids. It was probably against her will that I made her stay close to me on the playground and kept checking on her at recess. It wasn't as if she was shy or anything and in the small town we grew up in, she already knew plenty of little girls to play with.
That whole year, I made every effort to make sure that I watched out for that cute little blond girl on the playground. Every child is the smartest child in the world, according to their family, but Danice really did excel very fast Things seemed to come pretty easy to her and most of her report cards indicated that she was, by all accounts, brilliant.
This doesn't mean as much as the fact that she had a good heart and never forgot to tell people that she loved them. My grandmother and mother both said that this is one their fondest memories of Danice. " She never forgot to say "love you Gram" every time she left," my grandmother said. My mother expressed the same sentiments when she said that Danice never gave up on her. Danice cried for nearly two hours the last time she saw my mother and they had to say goodbye (this past Christmas).
Danice had this habit of coming in my room to sleep with me just about every night. I am not sure if she had nightmares or just didn't like sleeping alone. We talked, giggled, or just watched TV before falling asleep. We had our nightly ritual before going to bed. It went something like this:
I would say "Night."
She would say, "Night."
I would say, "Love ya."
She would say "Love ya."
I would say "See you in the morning.
She would say, "Kay."
This was a ritual we always made sure to say, clear into adulthood, even when we weren't going to be staying the night together.
Like all kids approaching their teen years, Danice had her share of problems, that is not a secret. . I saw a drastic change in Danice when she entered Junior High. It broke my heart because of the potential I saw in her. All was not lost, of course. I kept loving her and supporting her, as did the rest of my family. She still graduated high school. I also know that she wanted to eventually go to college or beauty school.
Last year she wrote me a letter telling how good she and the kids were doing. She said that she was taking steps to find the "real Danice." She had been in a rehab program for addiction and was seeking counseling. Her writing this, of course, made me hopeful and sad. Hopeful that she could truly be happy with herself and sad that maybe she didn't know how special she was either way.
I talked to Danice about two days before her disappearance. My family had just had one of the best Christmases I can remember. Danice was, from observation, doing really well and I couldn't get over what a beautiful woman and great mom she had become. That Monday, something inside me said "I just want to call her and tell her how much I miss her and see how the kids are doing." I usually had a hard time reaching her on her cell phone, but this time she answered. We talked for a couple of minutes and she, for some reason, seemed surprised that someone could miss her that much. Sometimes when we hung up the phone she would say "I love you," and I would jokingly reply "I know you think you do." She would always get a little irritated by that statement and I would have to make sure she knew I was just kidding. This time, there was no joking, but there was still the "I love you," and that seems more important than ever right now. Through everything, one thing never changed about Danice, she was always still very loving towards everyone.
As my friend and I were walking through the park the other day, he said "When you look back on this year, you won't remember the fact that you were broke and having trouble making it in New York City. You won't think of the boss' who you despise, you probably won't even remember me, the only thing you will remember is the loss of your sister." He is right, the loss of a sibling is something you never ever forget and when you don't have any closure as to how you lost that sibling, it is all the more painful. There are many stages of grief. There are minutes when you don't think about it and you feel guilty, there are days when you are in denial and think that he/she is going to walk through the door and then there is the part when you blame yourself.
"If I only could have loved her more," you think to yourself. You also think of all the good times you had with them or the funny things that person did like eating peanut butter and syrup mixed together as dinner or the way you used to sing along to the silly songs of New Kids on the Block, thinking they were really talented.
Then there comes a time when you face reality and that is going to be tough. I knew from the first day that I was told Danice was missing that I would probably never see her again, but that doesn't make it any easier. On the back of the graduation picture Danice sent to me, she wrote, "You have always been there for me, thanks for everything....you are my best friend."
I am happy she knew I loved her and that gives me some comfort.
