Memories, Lessons, and Farewell                                 written by    Dennis Jones     Sept. 20,1998

"...and we'll try, best as we can....to carry on."

And it's never easy.

The passing of someone, especially someone that you knew or were close to is always difficult.  Regardless of the circumstances, those remaining behind inevitably are left with perhaps the most difficult task of all...trying to find reason or explanation; someway to understand why.

This past Saturday, Darin Moore was headed out to Hat Rock for his camping trip/bachelor party.  He was smiling, happy, and full of excitement.  And why wouldn't he be?   Darin was half way through his third year in a job he loved, working at the  Les Schwab Tire Center with a group of friends he considered his "second family". This particular day was the second anniversary of the beginning of a relationship with the love of his life.  And that relationship would include his fiancee's 5 year old daughter, who had become the apple of Darin's eye. Three weeks from that day, the three of them would be joined as a family, living and loving and growing together, sharing everything that life would surely bring them.  Earlier that day, he had stopped to visit his family, and spent time with those people whom meant the most to him.  What was there not to be happy about?

By eight o'clock that evening, Darin Moore was dead.  The victim of a senseless, no-fault traffic collision on Highway 12, west of Touchet. For the past three days, Darin's family and friends have been trying to go about their lives and make some sense of it all.  Attempting to somehow find a reason or some understanding as to why, with so much joy and life ahead, that God would choose this time to take him.

Darin and I were not best friends.  But when he lived out in Prescott prior to his joining Schwab, we played golf, shot the breeze, and occasionally just hung out. Darin was the kind of guy that just being around made whatever kind of day you were having a better one.   I was thinking about it on Sunday and looking back on the thousands of people I've known, I can honestly say there are maybe a couple dozen or so that were just plain, down-home, head to toe, from the heart,  good people.  Darin was one of them.  He was honest and loyal as the day is long, perhaps the best kind of friend a person could hope to find.  On more than one occasion I'd seen (or been the recipient of) Darin coming to the aid of someone, regardless of the inconvenience it caused him.   He was a very passionate person, at times deeply moved by something the rest of us didn't even notice.  A huge sports enthusiast, Darin could jump up and down and shout his lungs out at football players on a TV screen at 8:00 on Monday night, and then be found at 6am the next morning, sitting beside a peaceful creekside, fishing poll in his hands at one with the peace, solitude, and sounds of the water and wind as the sun peeked up over the hills.

I learned long ago that people learn by doing what others do. As I thought about this, it came to me that perhaps I had stumbled across the lesson...that "thing" that I was supposed to take from all of this...God's reason for why Darin was gone.   . 

I have a great respect for the way Darin carried himself as a person.  No one is perfect, and Darin would have been the first to agree.  But in every situation, Darin was one of those people who, without even thinking about it, usually did the right thing.   It wasn't that he thought about it, it was just part of his nature...like breathing or hating country music.  I said Darin was very passionate.  There were a couple of times when his passion and beliefs caught his butt in a sling.   But even when he screwed up, he was the first person to step up, admit to the situation, and do the best he could to make up for whatever it was, leaving even the transgressed parties with a strong respect for how the man handled himself.

Darin was stubborn as hell.  But more often than not, his rigid stance was the cause of something he deeply believed in, and while he and I didn't always agree, it was  interesting (and admirable) that even if he firmly objected with your point of view, he would accord you the respect of listening to your side of an issue and actually pay attention and discuss it with you.  He wanted to know what you thought. He loved to learn.

And then like a ton of bricks it hit me.  The lesson wasn't those examples Darin had given me to carry on with after he was gone and it wasn't even the parts of him (of which there were many) that I would be well advised to try harder to emulate.  Whether I knew it or not, those had all been a part of me for some time.

No, as painful as it is to accept, the lesson I am learning isn't really coming from Darin at all, but as a result of his untimely and sudden passing. 

Of all the wonderful things Darin shared with me in such a short time, of those few but very special memories, or for those parts of him that I do try and make a part of myself...yesterday I realized that I never thanked him.  I never once took a half hour, or a minute, or even 15 seconds to say thanks and let him know how I thought about him...about how much he meant to me.

As I sat writing this early last evening, I wondered just how many other people I know that have given or touched me in some way and have no idea.  How many have never heard me say thanks for their positive and productive influence.  How many have never received even a few brief moments of my time so I could tell them that they were indeed very special to me.

Too many.

And so, there you have it.  So like Darin, those things he gave he often did without even realizing it.  It saddens me to know that what may be his biggest gift of all was given when he died.  As happens to many of us who fail to let those who cross our paths knowhow we feel about them, we realize it, "...a day late and a dollar short". 

Well Darin, I know you're out there and just wanted to let you know that..."message received".  You'll be the last person I let this happen to and for that I am thanking you, right here, right now. 

I'm gonna miss ya bud.  And as sad as I am that you're gone, I am one hell of a lot happier that you were here.  We're all a little better off because you were.

Later, amigo.  You save me a seat behind first base dugout...first beer's on me.