A dear friend, and a tragic loss
The obituary is taped to my desk, right underneath a stack of old notebooks and just to the left of some envelopes and my checkbook.
The obit is worn, yellow, and has a slight tear in it. I've placed Scotch tape over it so the first paragraph is still readable.
"A bright light passed on to heavenly realms when Daniel 'Danny' Arambula left this world to rejoin our Lord …"
This time of year, I read the obit over and over, remembering a dear friend and the worst night of my life.
When the bad memories surface -- Danny lying on the grass, on the side of the highway, the sound of his frightened voice as he told me he was dying -- I just think about how much this week would have meant to Danny.
This week was Danny's favorite, because he was a hard-core Michigan State fan. And I know if he was alive today, he'd be anticipating Saturday's Michigan-Michigan State football game like it was a trip to the White House.
"I would go into the store and see Michigan State stuff and buy it for him," his father, Dan, said. "I'd say, 'Don't tell your brothers.'"
Danny died three days before the Michigan-Michigan State game in 2004. His father buried his tickets with him. He visits his son's grave four times a week -- rain, snow or shine -- and not surprisingly, the two still talk quite a bit about Michigan State sports.
For a long time, it was hard to think about Danny because of the way he died. I, and others he was with on the last night he was alive, have taken turns feeling somewhat responsible.
I've come to the conclusion in the five years since Danny's death that "if" is the cruelest word in the English language.
If only we'd skipped the bar after bowling.
If only we could have convinced Danny to give us his car keys.
If only I'd been able to tell him to slow down when I, without his knowing, followed him to make sure he got home safely.
On any given night, any one of us could have made the same decision Danny did. That night, we were just fortunate to be better off than he was. When I followed Danny home from the bar after he'd been drinking, I just knew he was going to make it home. We all thought so -- which is why we gave in and reluctantly let him leave.
I thought the next day we would all laugh about it and chalk it up to an unexpected crazy evening. Unfortunately, the next day we were in tears and wondering why we didn't just force Danny into a taxi.
Danny lost control of his Chevy Blazer on the freeway. His truck rolled over and his body was thrown from the vehicle. I called 911 as I ran to him. When I finally got to him, I knelt beside him and tried to soothe him.
He was in a lot of pain. I didn't see blood. I didn't see bruising. I didn't see any broken bones. I just prayed over him, and told him everything would be fine. I really believed it would be.
But Danny died a few hours later at the hospital, leaving behind his most prized possessions -- his two sons, Danny III and Isaac, who go to the cemetery regularly with their grandfather and kiss their dad's headstone.
The worst part was telling his family what had happened. Thankfully, they're gracious and wonderful people, and never blamed anyone for Danny's death. But those of us who were with him that night can't help but feel some guilt.
The point of this column isn't to be a public service announcement. The dangers of drinking and driving are obvious. But if Danny's story makes you think twice as you enjoy this football weekend, so be it.
I wrote this column because I miss my friend. I miss how he used to call my cat "football," since she weighed 19 pounds and was shaped like one. I miss how Danny only knew two dance moves, but he'd be the first one to get up when one of his favorite songs came on.
Regardless of the circumstances that led to his death, it won't stop me from remembering Danny as a loving father, a good son and a passionate sports fan.
"Part of the puzzle is missing," his father said. "You can't find it … it's just not there."
I know Danny would have been there when Michigan State went to the Final Four in Detroit earlier this year, no matter the cost or the inconvenience. I know these last few weeks he would have been agonizing over the Spartans' 1-3 start. But he would have been talking more trash than anyone this week. (Although secretly he probably would have been counting down the days until Michigan State's basketball season began.)
If Michigan State wins on Saturday, I'll sit at my desk and read his obituary. But it'll be much easier to focus on my favorite part:
"You have made everything beautiful in its time. For everything you do, remains forever."
Jemele Hill can be reached at jemeleespn@gmail.com
