Danielle is colorful. She’s vibrant. She’s energetic, and she’s loud AF. You hear her long before you see her –…
Danielle is colorful. She’s vibrant. She’s energetic, and she’s loud AF. You hear her long before you see her – or at least you used to.
Danielle is my only cousin on my dad’s side, daughter of my dad’s sister. Part Puerto Rican, half Black, and a full New Yorker, she takes “I Don’t take shit from no one” seriously. She is a powerful and independent woman. You either love her, or you hate her – there isn’t much in between – and growing up, I adored her.
She was the older sister I always wanted. Connected at the hip from the day I was born, we did everything together – I was her scrawny sidekick. Anything Danielle did, I did. Dance, summer camp, sleep overs, vacations. All of it – all the time. She had braids with the fun little beads on the end – I had to have the braids with the fun little beads on the end. It didn’t matter that I had white girl hair or was actually a scrawny little white girl who looked ridiculously out of place with braided hair with beads. I wanted to be like Danielle all the time – until I didn’t.
In our teenage years, Danielle started to party – hard. And in the beginning, actually well into our college years, I partied with her. But there were two major differences: I never got caught and I knew when to stop. Danielle found herself in a lot of trouble. I can’t tell you exactly when, but I saw it coming and I started to pull away. Our relationship changed. She was no longer the older sister I always wanted. She wasn’t even a friend I wanted to be around. Danielle started lying, stealing, and getting herself into all sorts of trouble. Whenever Danielle came around, drama was sure to follow.
The last ten years or so of our relationship were complicated. She was an addict – drugs, mainly – and being around her was both painful and annoying.
Because she was colorful. She was vibrant. She was energetic, and she was loud AF.
It wasn’t until the final months of her life that we started to reconnect. We went to the Dominican Republic for our annual family vacation in March 2018. She hadn’t always come on our family vacations. Most of the decision relied on her sobriety and more often than not, she was consumed by her addiction. But March 2018 was different. She’d celebrate 90 days sober while we were there. But I didn’t really see that. I was more concerned with how she would ruin my vacation, and man, was that vacation fucked.
My family fought incessantly. Every day ended with doors slamming and tears by someone at one point or another. It was a fucking disaster. It seemed that Danielle’s only ally on the trip was Tyler, who she only met upon arriving in the DR. He was kind and patient, empathetic and loving. When she ran out of data on her cell phone plan, he gave her his so she could call home to her sponsor. He understands addiction at a level I can only dream of reaching, and he was able to see she was alone, scared, and in need of a friend.
After one particularly bad blow up, Danielle retreated to her room for a few hours. After we all calmed down, she came back out to the pool and asked her mom and me if she could read a poem she was working on. As she read it, a lump formed in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes. She was alive.
She was colorful. She was vibrant. She was energetic, and she was loud AF.
It was the first time she read her poetry aloud – at least to the family. And fuck, did it hit you in the feels. It was powerful. It brought her story, her hurt, her fears – all of it – it brought it to life for the rest of us to see, to hear, to feel.
Upon returning home, she found writer’s groups, open mic nights, and a community to support her in her journey as a poet and performer. She was determined, focused, and wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted.
Unfortunately, a bad night and a few dangerous wants ultimately stopped her. Danielle died of a heroin overdose on August 9, 2018. It fucking hurt – and still does.
I often recount the last four months of her life, and how she was so insistent upon getting her word out there. She networked, made connections, and wasn’t afraid to go for her dreams. Perhaps that’s the most important lesson for me: she wasn’t afraid to go for her dreams.
And she believed in me. In the countless phone conversations we’d have between the Dominican and her death, she’d ask what was holding me back, why I became complacent in a job I wasn’t loving, and what I could do to make changes. “One day at a time, T,” she’d say to me. She’d remind me of the fearless woman I used to be, and encouraged me to take the first step. “Just one thing. Start.” And my personal favorite: “Yo. Tell yourself. You’re a strong, independent woman. Don’t forget that.”
And so that is why today, July 17, on what would have been her 36th birthday, I am launching my blog. I’m taking the first step to have the life I want to live. In honor of her. In honor of myself. In honor of my daughter. And in honor of all the people out there trying to make changes, to live their best life. This is me, thanks to her.
I can hear her now – even though I can’t see her: “Yo, tell yourself …”
Because of her, I am determined to take charge of my life, to make the changes I need to make to live my best life.
Because of her, I will be colorful. I will be vibrant. I will be energetic, and I will be loud AF.
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Loved reading this, she left her mark on you and thanks for sharing it. I’m so happy you’ve decided to do a blog, just another talent I’m so glad you share with us!
I understand addiction. Addicts are invisible because of their habit. It’s awesome you are making her be seen again in a positive light. Way to spin it!
Hi Stacey, Thank you for your support. I hope that you continue to visit our site!
Thank you so much for your kind words. This has been years in the making, and I am so excited to share my story with the world. I appreciate your encouragement and support!
Dani was like a cousin to me growing up, vacations , laughs, boys, hard to see someone suffer with a problem that’s hard to kick, she spoke, and I always listened , I know she is up there watching and looking upon all of us ?? Happy birthday Beautiful, and ❤️The blog t” love u cuz , even though we don’t see each other much, love u always
Love you forever. I miss her every day and wish I could go back to those years I pushed her away and do it differently. This is me making my amends. ❤️
Although this was very hard for me to read, it is beautiful!
I am so relieved that you enjoyed the piece. It was tough to write, and is still tough to re-read. I miss her every day. Love you, Didi. ❤️
Strong work, Tina! You remind me to keep my eye on the prize and dig in deep. Here’s to living our best life!
Cheers, Aunt Lynn. Thank you for the kind words.
Thanks so much for sharing! Wonderful read – I didn’t want it to end! I’m sure Danielle is going to be channeling some poetic talents through you. Looking forward to the blog!
I am so excited that you enjoyed the read – I am always impressed by your writing and so it means a lot to me that you found my post to be a good read! Thank you for the kind words of encouragement!
Thank you for sharing this story. Beautifully written. Congratulations on starting your blog!
Thank you, Aunt Angie!! It was years in the making, but I am so happy to have taken the first step ❤️
T, this was beautiful. Danielle was such a great woman, she may of had her downfalls but we all do. That is what makes us human. She also blessed everyone with Tatiana, so there’s a little piece of Danielle in her ❤️. Love you
Thanks, Jojo. Dani is always around us – I see her nearly every day. She’s a constant reminder to never give up, to always keep fighting for what I believe in. She was definitely a fighter. Love you ❤️
This was both beautiful and painful to read— the true essence of life though. My memories of Danielle were just as the first part you described her, even when we were just little girls. And you were the scrawniest little thing!! Cheers and love to you and Danielle, for taking your life and making it the exact one you want. What an honor Danielle must feel watching you from up above— trying to make up the life she so desperately wanted but could not reach , one step at a time. Love you girl! I can’t wait to see your story unfold. ?
Scrawny doesn’t even begin to cover it!! ? Thank you so much for the kind and loving words. And for also being an inspiration to me – and I am sure many others out there. You, like Danielle, are passionate and determined. I see what you’re doing down there in SC, and it has been exciting to watch you grow PlantBabe. So thank you for doing you and working your ass off for the life you want; it’s definitely helped me get my own ass in gear. ❤️ Love you!!
I loved reading about this experience. I felt I was right there with you. I had a similar experience that I still can’t get past. Maybe someday… but today I still sob when it enters my mind so I shove it out of my mind until I feel strong enough emotionally to deal with it.
Thank you for pouring out your souls to us. Some of us need to hear that there are others out there with the same life experiences, it helps… really it does.
What a beautiful tribute! I enjoyed meeting Danielle and am glad that you found the inspiration in not only the triumphs, but also in the struggles.