With your wispy white curls fluffing out from under your ballcap, your ruddy face and your bright blue eyes.
Your's was a loving, gentle, fun-loving soul.
You gave wonderful, full-body hugs. I'll always remember your particular scent.
You were one of the few people to drop by for a visit, and I am forever grateful for that. I hope you knew how much that meant to me.
You loved live music, and theatre. You loved to dance in your own groovy way. You loved baseball, and I think everyone loved watching the Discovery Days tournament with you. You also loved watching sports on tv, in the bar. You'd come in to town after spending all your time at the lake, just because it was time for the World Cup. In fact, that was one of our lasts visits together. You stopped by on your way in.
You had a hard time remembering names, and called a lot of people Dave. You did things on the count of eleven. You often had food in your coat pockets: a banana, a steak, Babybel cheese. You loved Kokanee and Jack Daniels made you go into a sneezing fit. You made a mean silly chili.
You loved dogs, and mushing, and your friends--you made friends easy. You loved solitude, and bush life, and your lake.
And you'd been so sad these past couple of years, and none of us knew quite what to do.
And then you chose to end your pain in the most violent and final way imaginable. In spite of all the people who loved you, and all of the things you loved on this earth, you didn't choose life.
Forgive me for being so fucking angry with you for that.
I love you, Barry. We all do, and you will be sorely missed.