Monday, July 26, 2010

Badge # 439.

That number will stay with me forever now, even though the first time I ever heard it mentioned was on Wednesday or Thursday of last week. That was before I knew what an inspirational person Dan Naimoli was…before I knew how many lives he had touched…and before I understood the depth of the impact his loss would have on the entire surrounding community including his family, friends, the Meriden police and fire departments, and the National Guard.

Dan is the brother of one of my best friends, Angela. Last Tuesday, July 20th, I was driving home from zumba class when my cell phone rang. I will never forget where I was (Route 85 in Salem, CT) or what time it was (7:26 p.m.) when I answered. I could immediately tell that something was wrong by the tone of Ange’s voice, but because we were merely a week and a half out from her wedding, I didn’t think anything of it. Any number of last minute details might have come crashing down around her, so I tentatively asked, “What’s wrong??” I don’t think I could ever have been prepared for her response, “Everything’s wrong. My brother died.”

On Thursday night I drove to Angela’s parents’ house to help put together photo collages for the wake. I was tired of sitting around, feeling helpless. Hundreds of memories were strewn haphazardly across the kitchen table. Dan with his two boys, Nicholas and Robbie. Dan looking handsome in a tux. Dan in Osh Kosh overalls, circa 1986, walking with his mom. Dan and Ange through the years including New Kids on the Block sweatshirts and Halloween costumes. Dan hugging his dad in the kitchen. This vibrant life that was pieced together through moments now being cut up and placed on cardboard backdrops. “Doesn’t he look exactly like Dan?” someone exclaimed as they carefully placed a photo of Robbie on the photoboard. “I want this one in there, even though it’s dark,” Ange’s mom said. “It’s one of the only ones we have with of him in his police uniform.”

Dan’s death made the local news. You could find a legacy video about his life and public service on wfsb.com. The Meriden Record Journal published numerous articles about him, and about his dedication to the community. If you visited Dan’s facebook page, you would see that many of his friends and colleagues changed their profile pictures to Badge #439. The goodbye messages, poems, and memories piled on as the news traveled quickly; as people became aware of the fact that their friend was truly gone.

I knew that the wake wouldn’t be easy. My heart was literally breaking for Angela and her entire family, especially because it was so close to her wedding day. When I saw Dan lying there in his uniform with his white gloves on, and noticed how photos of his smiling boys were placed gingerly on top of his jacket, I lost it. Throughout the course of the evening, I noted that a wide range of people came to pay their respects to Dan: old, young, black, white, uniformed, non-uniformed. You could almost visualize all the compartments of Dan’s complete life coming together in one room. The only thing missing was Dan himself. His many accolades and awards covered tabletops. His Eagle Scout ring rested on a black velvet case. His friends stood or sat silently, at a loss for how someone so young, yet so accomplished, could be taken from us so soon.

I knew the funeral would be even more difficult. First of all, Jeff had to watch Ashlyn so I was attending alone. I woke up that sweltering morning and couldn’t even begin to imagine how Angela and her family were coping. To me, the most difficult aspect of funerals are comprised of those final moments in the funeral home. Saying goodbye to someone you know so well and love so much, knowing that you will never *see* them again.

I arrived in the church parking lot around 9:15 a.m., and the funeral was scheduled to begin at 10. I planned on meeting our friend Dani there around 9:30, and texted her to say that there was still plenty of parking available. Well within a matter of minutes that turned out to be inaccurate. Carloads and carloads of people filled up the parking lot quickly. I saw a woman get out of her car and hold up her camera. I looked at her incredulously, as if to say, “What could you possibly be photographing at an occasion like this?” I turned around. There, hanging over the street from an extended firetruck ladder, was a huge American flag. It was beautiful.

People congregated on the sidewalk. Mostly young people. Mostly dressed in black. The Red Cross handed out bottled water. The temperature slowly climbed to a hot and sweaty 87 degrees. Men and women in various uniforms milled around. They must have been overheated, but of course they never complained. Around 10:10, a bagpiper made his way down the street, carrying bittersweet, mournful notes behind him. I was already close to tears. Dani and I stood behind a number of policemen, firefighters, and soldiers who were all lined up in formation at the base of the sidewalk and all the way up the stairs. Policemen from Groton, New London, Manchester, all over Connecticut. The hearse pulled in. The casket was draped in a boldly colored American flag. I caught a glimpse of Angela’s face as she walked up the steps. She was crying.

The service was beautiful and moving. Never before have I left a funeral service thinking, “God, that was amazing.” But it was. One of Vivian‘s (Dan’s mom) eighteen siblings happens to be a priest, and he came down from Canada to lead the service. He spoke honestly and from the heart, both as a priest and as an uncle to Dan (“Denn” as he pronounced it, being from Canada). At one point he addressed only Dan’s immediate family: Viv, Gary, and Angie; although he said “I guess the rest of you can’t help but listen.” A little laughter. The music was gorgeous and filled the space with light and sound. “Be Not Afraid”; “On Eagle’s Wings”; and even the songs sung every Sunday took on new meaning here.

Dan’s Uncle Robbie, long-time family friend (and almost sister) Stephanie, and close friend Sidney told stories that portrayed Dan’s sense of humor, his compassion, and his ability, above all, to be a real friend to people. A true hero, in his sister’s words.

We moved on from the church ceremony to Sacred Heart Cemetery. I swear traffic was stopped on every single street corner in the entire city. Any police officers that were not attending the funeral that day were on duty, holding cars back to allow the funeral procession through. Cars gleamed in the blazing sunlight, hazards flashing, and had to loop around a few times just to allow room for everyone to park. I’ve never seen so many people at a grave site before. I’ve never seen police officers cry before, either. It was a day of many firsts.

I knew they were going to do the 21-gun salute. I have heard Taps played at funerals before. But I had never experienced the most poignant and haunting, yet so fitting, tribute that they gave Dan. Because I was so moved by this aspect of the ceremony, I have to copy the words from Angela’s cousin’s blog (thank you, Josh) because while I remember the gist of what was said, I was so choked up at this point that my mind was blurry.

Audible conversation heard over walkie talkies:

“H (headquarters) to 439 (Danny’s badge number)”

“439”

“439”

“H to 439…watch ended.” (Although in my memory, they said “Watch over.” Someone can feel free to correct me if I’m wrong).

I heard a few gasps, I saw shoulders heave, and I didn’t see anyone who wasn’t crying. It was sad, it was beautiful, it was echoing, and it resonated. You could hear the sirens throughout Meriden.

The sun continued to beat down on us as every uniformed officer lined up, two-by-two, to bid farewell to Dan. When I saw the first officer remove his white gloves and place them on the casket, I thought it was a nice gesture. I didn’t realize that every single officer that followed would do the same. Some cried, some kneeled, others placed their hands gingerly on the casket. Some kissed the wood of the casket. Some held each other for strength. I was touched when a few went over and offered their condolences directly to Angela and her family. I cried again.

I think one of the moments I will always remember from that day was when a man addressed the crowd and said “You want to know what brotherhood looks like? Look no further” and pointed towards the scores of uniformed officers (policemen, firefighters, and National Guardsmen) lined up in formation. They are all heroes. I think everyone that attended Dan Naimoli’s funeral now not only has a better understanding of what an amazing (and modest) person he was, but also what an amazing community we all live in. As Dan’s Uncle Leo (the priest) said, we will have to live our lives as Dan lived his. And after learning about his, I couldn’t be more inspired.