Get Back on that Sled: Lessons from my Sister

When I was six, my family was having a lot of company for the weekend. Not only would they be using the guest room, but my sister’s bedroom as well. Danielle, four at the time, and I were very excited about this, as we came up with a mischievous plan: We were going to stay up all night talking! Hee-hee. Shhh! Don’t tell Mom and Dad!

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So, at 8:30 (8:30! We convinced our mom to let us stay up an extra half-hour!), we both lied in my bed. I asked her, “What do you want to talk about?” She thought for a couple seconds and shouted, “FOOOOOOD!!!” In typical childhood fashion, i.e. nonsensical and wonderful, we could not stop laughing. That became a big joke between us from that point on.

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I’ve learned so many things from Danielle, including some I will apply through this journey toward health. I’d like to share just a couple if I could.

Get Back on That Sled

When we were little, my family lived on top of a hill (some called it a mountain) with a long, steep and narrow driveway. Perfect for sledding, except for the little fact that you pretty much had to crash your sled into the rocks on the side of the driveway to avoid being flattened by the large rock at the sharp turn halfway down it.

It was awesome.

Danielle and I would sled down it every winter. And every winter, it was the same thing. We’d jump on the sled together, head down the hill at speeds the Jamaican bobsled team could only dream about and crash and flip somewhere along the way.
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I would pick myself up and brush off the snow.

Danielle would cry.
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I would find the sled (most of the time) and make sure it didn’t break or dent.
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Danielle would cry.

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I’d start making my trip back up the driveway.

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Danielle would follow me…and cry.
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Every time we got back to the top of the hill, I’d put the sled down and ask her if she wanted to go down again.

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She’d always reply: “Waaah!”...sniff, gasp, sniff...“Okay.” And we’d do it all over again.
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In life, no matter how many shots she took, how many times she fell and how long and steep the trip back up the hill was, she’d always work her way back…and she’d get back on that sled. (And yes, crying was often involved.)

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Do it for the Kids

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Danielle battled with her weight in adult life, much like I have. When she was 26, she gave birth to Connor, and she knew she needed to make herself healthier for him. And she started doing it.

Connor on St. Patty's Day, 2008.

It only took two green beers to get him in this outfit. Lightweight.

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It was beautiful to see, not just losing the weight and getting healthier, but seeing her happier than she had ever been in her life being a mother to her precious little boy. Everything was for him now. Along with our own parents, Danielle showed me a great deal of what being a parent was all about, and I am grateful for that. I am and will be a better Daddy to Lorelei and Noelle, because of her, and she has given me the strength to do this.

Danielle holding Lorelei the day the girls were born.

One year ago, today, Danielle passed away. She just went to bed one night and didn’t wake up the next morning. It was a pulmonary embolism, a fluke thing. She was 28. Sometimes, even at your healthiest, these things can happen.

You may have noticed I had a different topic planned for today. I was going to discuss early diet and exercise strategies and what future research I would do to develop the plan. I’ll talk about that tomorrow. It’s just that every time I sat down to write this, all I wanted to write about was her.

Danielle was my sister and my best friend, and I miss her very much. Obviously, what I’ve written is just a snapshot of who she was. Thanks for indulging me, dear readers.