David was definitely not an angel. He woke up every morning grumpy. He told us not to talk to him before 11am, and if you did, you would get one of his signature glares. I got quite a few of those. He would walk around the house, his phone permanently attached to his hand, and his bulky headphones on with one ear on and the other off so he could still hear if we called him. He almost always wore Hawaiian shirts, khaki shorts, and slides. If not that, then we were probably going to church or another event that required him to dress up, and he liked dressing up as much as possible. He was either ridiculously casual or formally dressed and there was no in between.

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I miss David's conversations the most. Whenever we sit down for dinner now, I miss hearing his commentary on what is happening in the world. He always stayed up to date with everything in the news and sought out all perspectives so he could get a clear grasp on what was happening. Then, he would tell us in detail about his thoughts for how to fix the problems that we face based on the research that he did. He'd express his comments and frustrations with the delivery of a late night comedian, making jokes at the expense of all parties involved. Now, I always imagine different points in our conversations where he would have spoken up and delivered a sarcastic remark. I miss his snarky expression and the way his hands would emphasize his points. I miss the way he would flip his big mop of hair out of his face as he spoke. I just miss him.

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Other than politics, he loved music. Band was his life. As a percussionist, he was always tapping out a beat with his hands the whole day. One of my last memories with him was his Confirmation, a rite in the Catholic church where you affirm your commitment to joining the church. David asked me to be his Confirmation sponsor, so we went to his practice together the day before the actual event. The whole time as I sat next to him, his fingers tapped against his leg. Sometimes, it would be small taps. Sometimes, his whole hand and arm would move with the rhythm. As we got up to practice walking into the sanctuary, he started dancing to the beat, too. Or maybe he was just moving very energetically haha. His head bobbed up and down like he was at a concert, and he emphatically beat out the tune in his head. I wished I could have heard the music so I could have enjoyed it with him. David lived and breathed music. Pretty much every memory I have with him is tied to music in some way. 

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There are never enough words to describe a life, no matter how short or long. It's simply not quantifiable. David is made up of millions of moments and memories that I have with him. He's more than just words on a page, just like everyone else in this world. The legacy he left behind is probably much different than the one any of us thought it would be. Like him, it's more than just words on a page. The acts of kindness and love that so many people have done in his name are millions of moments and memories that bring more life into this world. They help balance out the tremendous loss that we all face.

 

I miss him at a depth that has no words. AND I'm thankful for every moment that I had with him.