June 2020
This one hit different because the layers are special.
It's now been almost 3 weeks since you've been gone.
All love, light, and strength to Amy, Zoe, Bob, Patsy and the entire Zollars family.
Danny Zollars was 1 of 1.
—
We were introduced in early 2003 when I first started working for the Coyotes. People thought we looked like brothers. We didn’t see it. But we didn’t NOT see it either. With our Midwest roots, we quickly bonded though our love for the Vikings, tacos, and Dr. Dre beats along with some new rapper he was producing for named 50 Cent.
As our friendship grew, there were countless times with either something we said or did that was in unison or identical. We would both just give an MJ like shrug, say “brother style”, laugh and move on.
Careers progressed and we both moved from AZ to different places geographiclly but we got closer. Personally and professionally our lives remained inexplicably intertwined. From the Bay, to Portland, DC, Seattle, & LA. Memories made that never stopped.
Dinners, Bachelor parties, drinks, weddings, and a myriad of sporting events - each time bringing a new unique story, catchphrase, or often times both that solidified each of these experiences forever. Brother style.
In June of 2013 it was an email, telling a small group that you had been diagnosed with rectal cancer. Evelyn and I were living in Chicago at the time - the city ironically, where you primarily grew up. Needless to say, it was a wild note to receive, and of course had no clue as how to process it.
We saw each other a month later in LA and talked about it as much as we could. There was a plan formulated. And as crazy as the odds stacked against you, the journey to beating it would begin. Relentlessly, methodically, and humbly. Under the radar.
There wasn’t a day that went by I didn’t think about how you were feeling or what you were going through. This was cancer. In your 30's?!? Life was so good. Ass cancer of all things?!? How does one even begin to cope or deal with that?
Yet, it in no way defined you. A stigma associated with something that at one time was comical and certainly unimaginable. But with your battle continuing and with each day passing, the idea of what fighting cancer looked like evolved.
Unless you knew otherwise, no one would be any the wiser as to what you had going on behind the scenes.
Fast forward to 2016, 2 weeks and 2 days after West and Leo were born, when a diagnosis of rectal cancer of my very own came. Not as advanced as yours, with it being stage III. However, with more time passing before being tested, easily could have been.
You were the first non-nuclear family person I called. You couldn't believe it. What were the odds of this even happening to 2 friends, in their mid-30's?!? One in five hundred billion is I believe what we settled on. We joked that it must have been something we drank together back in our AZ days?
Thing is, I could joke and was at relative ease with such life altering news because the trail was already blazed with where you were with your fight. And although I know it wasn't easy, the grace with which you were executing it was staggering.
You and Amy immediately empowered me and Ev with an encyclopedia of information. Those red hot cancer tips. You started a blog becuase it helped. So I started a blog - and it did. There were books. Meal plans. Tons of texts. And lots of wet wipes.
Based on your own experiences, we were able to pivot and leverage a supieror shift in my own care. We always got 2nd & 3rd opinions. We got on a track. Fighting this now together. For us. Our families. Together. Brother style.
One of the first things you told me was that in 5 years that this would all just feel like a bad dream. Tons of bumps with otherworldly experiences at times.
But ultimately, it’ll all be in the rear view. No pun intended. A footnote of sorts. At some point, it will feel like it wasn't real - that it all never happened.
We fantasized about the cancer free brother trip we would take to celebrate. Starting to loosely build cases to our wives as to how responsible we would be - no matter how exotic the destinations on the short list.
It’ll be 4 years this August since my OG diagnosis and thankfully so far, 3 years in remission. Still not to what we thought would be an amenisa filled 5 year mark.
Now that you are no longer here, you called it brother. A bad dream indeed. The pain with the loss of you - undeniably real.
With your profession you entertained millions of people - anonymously.
Your relentless fight throughout this ravenous disease, already to thousands - energizing.
The essence of you to the hundreds of your family and friends - unforgettable.
The endless depth of your love to Amy and Zoe - forever.
Your singular enhancing of my life with our freindship and ulimately saving it with the cards you were dealt - cosmic.
There won't be a day that goes by I won't think of you in some way - a story, a song, a team, a word. Which really isn't all that different than most from the day we first met 17+ years ago.
Your burden of the fight is over but it will continue in earnest with the inspriation of you as the fuel.
Rest easy and in peace brother. I will always miss you. I love you.
And oh yeah, fuck cancer.
