Beyond Believing

by D. D. Marx

  Beyond Believing

  Copyright © 2017 D. D. Marx

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Contributors: Cover Illustration: Michael Fitzpatrick; Graphic Design by Morpheus Blak for Critical Mass Communications; Content Editor: Caroline Tolley; Copy Editor: Tim Jacobs Writing Consultants

  ISBN: 978-0-9972481-0-4 paperback

  ISBN: 978-0-9972481-3-5 ebook

  Printed in the United States of America

  To order, go to:

  www.ddmarx.com

  Dedication

  Beyond Believing is dedicated to my greatest loves: Maddie, Ryan, and Danny.

  Special thanks to my amazing family for all your unwavering support and unconditional love. To my lifelong, forever friends, from near and far, who fill me up with tremendous happiness and love, I am eternally grateful. And finally, to the funny guy who brings me endless joy and laughter every single day, I treasure you. Thank you for bringing this book to life.

  There are pieces of each of you sprinkled throughout this story. I love you endlessly. XO

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter One

  (Olivia)

  Red walks in and finds me frantically pacing, eyes with laser beam focus on the emergency room double doors, waiting for someone in scrubs to come out to provide some sort of news, relief, anything.

  “Liv,” Red bawled as she reaches out to embrace me. “Oh my God, what happened?”

  My head spins as everything moves in slow motion. My lips are so dry I can barely speak a word, paralyzed by shock. Less than an hour ago, sitting at happy hour with Dan, and now I wait in this sterile, horrid waiting room making any and every deal I can with God, praying that Dan is okay.

  “We left happy hour and he called to ask me what time to be at my house for Easter brunch on Sunday when he shouted ‘HANK’; then the phone went dead. I tried calling him back at least twenty-five times but only got his voicemail. Then his number popped up,” I sob. “I answer to the empty voice of a police officer telling me that Dan was involved in a car accident and they are in route to Good Samaritan Hospital.” I quiver. “But Red, they said to contact his next of kin.” She gasps. “So I called the Sullivan’s, then you, and raced over here.” Red holds me as I unfold. “I don’t care if they tell us he broke seventeen bones and that beautiful face will forever have a scar the size of New Jersey, just, please God, make him okay.”

  I see the Sullivan’s arrive just as the doctor swings through the doors to the waiting room, making eye contact with us.

  “Are you the Sullivan family?” The doctor asks as he shuffles us over to a corner for privacy.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Sullivan responds, apprehensive.

  “I’m very sorry to tell you, but he didn’t make it.”

  These are the last words I hear as everything goes black.

  #

  My body shut down. I’m operating in survival mode. The magnitude of devastation is enormous. I’m numb. Shattered. I spend the next few hours breaking the heart wrenching news to my family and friends. It’s a revolving door of sadness. I text Garrett to tell him the news. I realize this is not the kind of news you send via text, but I can’t bear to say the words, Dan is gone, out loud. I will call Jane tomorrow.

  Garrett Stanford is my first cousin and the other half of me. Growing up, he lived in Cleveland and my family lived in Chicago, so I only saw him a few times a year at holidays. He is more like a brother than a cousin. We are separated by only thirteen months and are two peas in a pod. He is the family’s very own Ralph Lauren. He’s a designer and now lives in Dana Point, California with his partner, Tristan. He didn’t know Dan but knows how much I love him and, of course, is overwhelmed with the sadness of it all.

  Jane is my older and only sister. She lives in downtown Chicago and works for an advertising agency that sponsored a big event today at Wrigley Field for opening day. I know her instinct will be to hop on a train and come out to my parents’ house to be with me, but I’ll be engrossed with friends for the next several days. She’ll be home for Easter this weekend and, little does she know, for Dan’s wake.

  When I’m not blubbering, in between consciousness, I search the web for answers about communicating with your deceased loved ones and how to look for signs from your guardian angels. I comb through every piece of memorabilia I have of Dan. Sifting through boxes, piece by piece, when I discover the postcards. We have this weird tradition of sending each other a postcard from all our trips and adventures. This one is from his college dorm on move-in day freshman year. As I read it, it knocks the wind out of me. It’s almost a foreshadowing.

  Hank,

  Can’t wait to see you at Homecoming in a few weeks. Have you heard Mellencamp’s new song “If I Die Sudden”?

  Miss you!

  XO Danny

  “Oh my god. Danny, can you hear me? Where are you? I miss you so much it’s unbearable. You have to find a way to let me know you are ok. If you can hear me send me a Mellencamp song. No, send me Small Town.”

  #

  An abundance of broken hearts, as far as the eye can see. The pallbearers proceed to the altar as “On Eagle’s Wings” plays and the funeral begins. A huge mix of friends are all here from grade school, high school, and college. The diverse attendees paint a vibrant picture of Dan’s short but impactful life. The guys from high school are part of our core group. There are eight of us total—six boys, including Dan, then Red and me. Growing up, we would joke and dream about our group’s future and all the happy celebrations, like weddings and babies; never in our wildest dreams did we imagine a day like today. Raw and harsh realities are teaching us how fragile life is. I continue to question why it had to be one of “us.” Answers I’ll never have.

  The priest delivers a beautiful homily. It’s so personal and accurate; it sums up Dan’s life perfectly.

  “Look at the crowd Dan drew here today. Over one thousand people at his wake and now a full house to say our final goodbyes. But why are you here? Why did you take time out of your busy schedules to be here? As Catholics, we all know there is life after death and Dan is in a much better place. He’s in heaven with God. After all, isn’t that the goal for each of us? He just got there sooner than anyone ever expected. You are here for your selfish reasons; it’s true. You are human. You need a reason. You want answers. You can’t make sense of this tragic loss. You are here to mourn and grieve the loss of a person who had a profound and lasting impact on every one of your lives. Dan was rare. He was special. He was a lover. Lover of life. Lover of people. He brought joy to everyone he encountered. He had a huge, giving, generous heart and never asked for anything in return. He lifted your spirits with that smile and his contagious laugh. You are sad because Dan brought out the best in each one of you. Being in his presence was a gift that you all treasured beyond measure. In many ways, he was the only person in you
r life who gave you things no one else could give you and now he’s gone. Take comfort in the time you did have with him. You will forever have your memories to cherish until you meet him again someday. Lean on each other and rely on your faith to get through this excrutiating time.”

  The rest of the Mass is a blur and before long, we’re all lined up at the cemetery surrounding his grave. At the burial site, the sun pierces through the clouds for a brief second, almost like a halo on Dan’s casket to let us know he’s at peace.

  #

  Dan Sullivan was the heartthrob of our high school class. Class clown and dreamboat, all wrapped into one. Sandy blonde hair, baby blue eyes, and dimples that could melt the coldest of hearts. His laugh is distinctive, striking and infectious. He is endearing, charismatic, full of mischief and gives the best bear hugs imaginable. I’m one of the only girls in our class that didn’t want to kiss him, and we’re the best of friends because of it. On top of it, he is the best story teller: captivating, charming, and hilarious, that’s undeniable. I know I will never be lucky enough to meet his match. Our bond was unquestionable. He and Red were close, but Dan and I have a genuine, irrefutable relationship. One of a kind. Kindred spirits. Platonic Soulmates.

  His family is like a second family to me. He is the youngest of four. His closest sibling is three years older than him so he grew up basically as an only child since they were all away at college or graduate school. We spent summers at his lake house and before we knew it, we were spending holidays together. He was supposed to come to my family’s house for Easter Sunday but instead we’re attending his funeral.

  Red, well, Susan Graham, is my other best friend. Dan gave her the nickname Red. Nicknames were his thing. Everyone gets one. Susan has long, beautiful auburn hair, hence the name. My nickname is Hank. Short for Henry—Olivia Henry. We’ve all known each other since we were fourteen, the first day of freshman year of high school. We grew up together. Our most impressionable and fragile years. We’ve been through everything together: well, except something like this. The unfathomable happens, and nothing in life prepares me for it. We are still babies. Recent college graduates, seemingly having our whole lives ahead of us, well, until now.

  #

  After the funeral lunch, we went straight to the local watering hole, which is exactly the last place I will ever see Dan. The Lantern Bar and Grill has been our weekly hangout since freshman year in college. My mind is in a frenzy as we walk back to the high-top tables near the dart board, trying to recall our last conversation. I can’t remember if I told him I loved him when we left. I try to engrave every little detail of our last moments into my brain. This place has a distinct smell: a musty combination of hops and dirty ashtrays. The wooden booths line the paneled, faux mahogany walls, trapping the decades’ worth of thick smoke that enveloped the place. Countless neon beer signs hang over the bar. The old, worn jukebox sits in the corner next to the free-standing popcorn machine. As everyone begins to trickle in, we reunite in our general section and begin to share story after story. Some I have never heard before which is like having Dan here, sharing new memories. Each one was funnier than the last.

  The bartender sends over a round of shots. Jägermeister. Dan’s go-to drink. I feel compelled to give a toast but can’t find the right words to sum him up, so we lift our glasses and cheer “to Danny.” As we finish, “Small Town” starts on the jukebox. Stunned, we all look at each other in disbelief. Mellencamp songs trigger Dan in everyone’s memory, and the words never felt more real.

  “ . . . No I cannot forget where it is that I come from/ I cannot forget the people who love me/. . . Well I was born in a small town/ . . . Gonna die in this small town/ And that’s prob’ly where they’ll bury me.” I haven’t told anyone about my plea to Dan, to have him send me signs, specifically “Small Town.” It’s shocking. It’s like he’s sitting right here at the table with us, saying his goodbyes.

  #

  Mrs. Sullivan invited me over in the evening to go through his things to see if I want to keep anything. As I pull into his driveway, I can barely breathe. His car would be sitting right here in front of me if that drunk didn’t cross the double line and kill him. My palms are sweating, and I suddenly feel like I’m going to throw up. I try to get out of the car but am superglued to the seat. Paralyzed. Pull it together, Liv. Get a grip. You can do this. Danny, please. God, help me get through this. I manage to wipe the tears away and muster up the strength to knock on the door.

  “Hi sweetheart, come on in.” Mrs. Sullivan greets me with a warm embrace.

  “Thank you again for letting me do this” I say as I tentatively cross the threshold into one of the most familiar places I’ve known in my life but I instantly feel, like all life is gone.

  “Danny wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “A glass of water would be great, thank you.”

  The house is hectic. All his siblings and spouses are in town along with their other relatives and close friends. Aluminum foil trays line the kitchen counters. The living room is full of folding chairs for all the visitors stopping by to pay their condolences. Every table top holds a beautiful arrangement of flowers, and I cannot help but notice his face everywhere. From baby pictures to his college graduation photo.

  She returns with a fresh glass of ice water as I continue to greet everyone.

  “Are you hungry, Hank? We have plenty of food.” I’m stunned to hear her call me Hank. She has never called me anything other than sweetie or honey since the first time I met her. A warm, calm feeling came over my body, like a hug as she called me by Danny’s nickname. It was almost as if Dan spoke through her. I’m not even sure she caught it herself.

  “Oh, no thank you, I’m alright.”

  “Okay, well, do you want to head on up to his room? No one is upstairs right now, so you’ll have some privacy. You remember which one is his, right?” She asks in a soft, flat and somber tone.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Spend as much time as you like, honey. There’s no hurry. And if you see anything you want to keep, please, take it. We’re not ready to pack it all away yet, but we want you to have anything special Dan would have wanted you to have.”

  “Okay.” I turn on my heel to head upstairs before I collapse in grief. My legs are like cement. I can barely lift them as I climb the half dozen steps from the kitchen. I inhale a deep breath as I arrive at his door. It takes every ounce of my energy to enter. I close the door behind me, slide down the wall, curl up and sob for what feels like an eternity.

  Where do I even begin?

  “Danny, how could you do this to me? Do you know how much I need you? How much I love you?” I howl as I cling to my claddagh necklace. It’s the necklace Dan gave me for college graduation. He bought it on his trip overseas the summer of his senior year. I vow from now on to only wear it on special occasions. I can’t risk losing the only piece of him I have left.

  His room is just how I remembered it. He has two single beds against the wall in an “L” shape, almost like a sectional couch. As I see it, I recall the one time I thought maybe Dan was going to kiss me. His parents were out of town, so he had the whole gang over. I had too much to drink, so I spent the night. He was getting me all tucked into his other bed and, for a brief second, I thought he was going to lean down to kiss me. All I remember thinking was No, no, don’t do it. Please don’t ever ruin what we have. He must have felt the same way because the moment came and went without incident.

  His dressers are filled with pictures of friends and family. There is one of us that I’ve never seen before. It’s from our night at the Mellencamp concert after high school graduation.

  I’ll never forget the moment. He leaned over, gave me a big hug, kissed my forehead, and said: “You know, you’ll always be my best friend.” Before I had time to get choked up, Mellencamp opened with “Authority Song” and played non-stop for two and a half hours. He was a tre
mendous artist—a true performer. We stood and belted out the lyrics to each one of his songs along with every other diehard fan. Finally, “Small Town” came on and Dan sang in my ear: “. . . No I cannot forget from where it is that I come from/ I cannot forget the people who love me.” But the lyrics that stood out the most that night were to “Jack & Diane,” “. . . Holdin’ on to sixteen as long as you can/ Change is coming ‘round real soon/Make us woman and man.” The days of innocence are over.

  “Dan, you actually can hear me, can’t you? What are the chances you would have this picture framed? It’s like you were somehow leaving me breadcrumbs without even knowing it.”

  I start my task in his closet and see the shiny, white pair of Chuck Taylors staring me in the face. I burst into tears again. If there was one physical item that will forever remind me of Dan, these are it. He wore them everywhere. I also snag his worn-out Purdue sweatshirt. That will be cozy to lounge in. It will feel like a virtual hug on the cold, sad and dark days. In the back of the closet, I see a crate full of old vinyl records. There are at least two dozen. The first one is Neil Diamond’s Icon album. Neil Diamond was another one of Dan’s favorites. His favorite song is “I am, I said.” “Danny, remember when you used to walk up behind me randomly and whisper in my ear, ‘Did you ever read about a frog/ Who dreamed of bein’ a king/ And then became one’?” “Ha, what a nutcase.”

  I check under his bed and find a similar box of mementos. I locate the receipt for my graduation present. The beautiful claddagh pendant he bought me in Ireland. It’s an Irish friendship symbol. The charm is a gold plated, shamrock heart pendant adorned with Swarovski crystals. He bought it at a place called Blarney Wollen Mills in Cork, Ireland. But, huh that’s weird, I see he bought two, bewildered until I come across a small photo album and my heart sinks.

  Oh my God, Danny. What about Frank? Does she even know? Where is she?

  Frank, well, her name was Mary Christine Frances, but I only ever knew her as “Frank.” She is Dan’s version of me at Purdue. She’s from a small town in Indiana. Ironically, we’ve never met. Maybe Danny designed it that way. I’ve never known another girl who he isn’t interested in, and it made me kind of jealous. Deep down, I was happy he had another me in college, but when we do meet, I plan to make it clear that I am the alpha dog. He calls us his Hank and Frank. I’m sure people who don’t know us think we were the token gay couple from back home. Little do they know that we are two straight girls and the only two girls he never dated. As I thumb through it, I realize this is the photo album of Dan and Frank on their trip to Ireland. He gave the second necklace to Frank. It’s visible in all the pictures. There is another guy in the photos but I don’t recognize him. He must be Frank’s boyfriend.