3/6/9, 10:32, 44

No, its not the winning powerball numbers.  They are a series of numbers, however, that I will remember for as long as I live.  My big sister Deena Diane Byers passed away yesterday, March 6th, 2009 at 10:32 am.  She was 44.

I probably won’t ever know the true cause of her death.  Her doctor’s will use the terms Staphylococcus Aureus and Toxic Shock Syndrome as the cause of her death, but I simply like to think of it as her having a panic attack because she was frequently being separated from her family during those crucial, final hours of her life.

For those that know me well, they know about my sister.  She loved everyone and she always was giving of herself despite her conditions.  You see, my sister has battled her whole adult life with addictions which unfortunately led to her being incarcerated for half of her life as well.  She was never a bad person, she just had a bad problem… hers was always the fear of the unknown.

The love my sister had for me was unbreakable, starting on day one of my life where she aptly named me Danny.  She would go on to accept the responsibility to raise my brother and I in her teenage years when most people are thinking about partying and sex.  She worked, clothed, fed, hustled…did whatever she could to give whatever she had to anyone around her that was in need.  Then the tables turned and she became the one that would be in need.  My family never stopped supporting her.

I, on the other hand, am embarrassed to say I spent many of the last 9 yrs not speaking with her as much as I could have.  I’d selfishly become bitter that she wouldn’t quit her addictions for her children and I.  She’d write me countless letters and cards.  She’d call often, until I blocked my phone from long distance calls from my nephew running up my bill to strangers from myspace (which adversely blocked collect calls from her).  She never gave up hope on me, coming back to her.

I owe it to my good friend Omar Pettis on being instrumental in getting my head right about my sister.  For without him telling me what an ass I was being by not talking with my sister and that I’d someday regret it, I would not have got to share many of the past 2 yrs with her.  My good friend Anne Lambert acted as my emotional mediary for my sister and I when I just didn’t have the right words to express.  Truth is, I never stopped loving my sister ever.  In fact, it was the exact opposite.

I only wanted her to get better, to do better, to want more.  In my oft-times twisted, warped rationalization of things, I felt if I did not shower my sister with attention and material things while she was locked up, that she’d have something to look forward to even more so when she returned to the outside.  We’d be best of friends again.  She’d teach me about the streets, I’d teach her about the world.  We’d travel and laugh at each other again.  We’d listen to her damn favorite records over and over and over til I got tired and left the room.  She had under 6 months left to be freed and this time would be different for everyone.

Among my sister’s personal belongings was a journal she recently started jan 01, 2009.  She wrote everyday on how she had complete faith in God and how her life was changing for the better.  She was praying everyday on how life would be differently once she transferred to Charlotte.  She never named me exclusively, but I know that had a lot to do with her excitement.  I’m glad I got to visit as much as I could, got her all the things she needed to make herself comfortable.  After about maybe three weeks of being in Charlotte, she mysteriously was rushed out of town because of “Administrative reasons.”  No official word of why.   It turns out she contracted a small stomach virus that probably could have been cured immediately if she just visited a hospital in town.  But after 2 weeks of secrecy, and being shuffled around without anyone getting to see her or talk to her, my beautiful sister is no longer with us.

I’m angry because she didn’t get to experience life as she was supposed to see it.  I’m thankful I got to hold her hand and talk to her in her final days alive.  I’m grateful I got to play her favorite song to her over and over and over in what would become her final hour.  It’s poignantly prophetic, actually, Klymaxx – I Miss You.

Thank you for the birthday present that I’ll never forget.  I love you Deena, your little brother Danny.