I looked over my last bit of writing and have been thinking on the subject on how much we can know people or how much we should know them. One of the things that bothered me at Danny's funeral was people who went to me and asked about stories from when Danny and I were younger. Now I know that I was under a great deal of stress but for the life of me I felt like I had no real memories of Danny even though our lives were so parallel and we spent a great deal of time together. My stories and memories goes back to being under 7 years old and times the family went off to the emergency room for those typical boy type things boys do that get us into trouble. Danny tried to be superman from a couch to a top of a step and missed enough to cut through his lower lip or the time I was pushing him on a tricycle and ended up pushing him through a giant glass pane that miraculously missed hurting him or anyone else. We were the flag boys who were at elementary school to raise the flag in the morning and to lower it at the end of the day. We had adventures together, lost our virginity around the same time and just lived lives that crossed and crossed again. Yet I felt that I barely knew him. I guess it bothered me most that other people had insight to him and his life that I never knew. Stories I didn't know and for some neurotic reason I felt left out. The truth of the matter there are limits to how much we know anyone, and I believe there are healthy reasons for this. But in the throes of grieving I felt left out and missing something important. And of course I couldn't help but compare him to me a dangerous path to depression. I am not really a petty person but my depression reduces me to a form of self indulgent pettiness that I don't think I would find very attractive in anyone else. So I have to take this by the horns and accept the reality of the situation. While this writing is about me, but in the real world this is about Danny and the end of his life and the effects of his passing on the world. I have been very close to his family, his wife and I also went to school together and we were friends as well. I was around for the birth and major passages of his kids and I care deeply about them all. But now there is very little I can do for any of them but be there in some nebulous form as support and this frustrates me to no end. But I think too it is a deep neurotic need to be too much in their lives, beyond the proper boundaries, as if my involvement gives some validation to me. And that just isn't right. And it isn't something I will do but still have the feelings. Still I wish I could do more.
I hope you look up Danny's obits and check out a bit of his art. He was an interesting guy with great taste in art and a great eye for things on the horizon. His collection of neon is amazing and probably one of the finest private collections in Los Angeles. Even how he accumulated some of the pieces are great stories in of themselves.
As much as I have written there is so much more and should be as I can barely scratch the surface of someone as complex and complete as Danny was. And I am glad I am taking the time to do a little writing about him now.
ta ta for now