Live Like We're Dying

Since the inception of my blog, I've tried to come up with a different topic each week. Occasionally, I've had a lot to say in a given week, and therefore posted a bit more frequently. This week I had a bad case of writer's block and decided I'd take a break. I have several things working for future blogs, and felt my time would be better spent working on those drafts. But then I attended a memorial service for a friend and realized that I wasn't quite done talking about him and his untimely passing.

By now, most of you know that Daryl Hunt died July 9, 2010 of a massive heart attack. He was 53 years old. He was an offensive lineman for OU and drafted by and played for the Houston Oilers for six years. Even at the time of his passing, he was a physical specimen and looked as though he could still deliver a hit or two if called upon. This alone negated any consolation I was suppose to find in the fact that the average NFL player only lives to be 59.

Saturday, a modest crowd of roughly 200 gathered at Second Baptist of Houston to remember this remarkable man. There was quite the olio of mourners: his mother and daughter, co-workers from Grocer's Supply and Quail Valley Country Club, congregation members from Brentwood Baptist, fellow Sooner alums, and Dan Pastorini, Mike Barber, Greg Bingham, Spencer Tillman and Barry Switzer to name a few.

I debated on whether or not to attend. I've dealt with my share of death in the past fifteen months, and just wasn't sure how much more I could take. Other than the actual day of his funeral in Odessa, I've managed to hold it together pretty well this time. It's hard to explain, but I didn't necessarily feel the devastation in his passing like I did with my friend Wayman a little over a year ago. Instead, his death has left me with a void that I know will not be easily filled.

Normally when we lose a loved one we talk about the things we didn't get to say or do before they left us. I can honestly say that for the year Daryl was a part of my life, we developed a bond that was unsurpassed. From all the stories I heard this weekend and over the past month, none of them were anything I hadn't heard before and I could have supplied a few of my own. Okay, I take that back. I didn't know he liked motorcycles which is probably just as well since I dream of one day owning a purple Harley. But that aside, it was the fact that I knew so much about someone in such a short time that has made it difficult for me to cope. Watching a slideshow tribute made me realize once again how much I've taken for granted.

And hence, the empty feeling. I didn't talk to Daryl every day, but I sure could have if I wanted. When school resumes in a couple of weeks, there will be no more texts at lunch time on Fridays telling me to "Hang in there. The weekend is almost here." When I work on Thursday nights, he he isn't going to surprise me by showing up for wings. His name and number are on my caller ID for the last time. Yet my only real regret is not being able to touch him again. I didn't stay for the reception Saturday, but instead came home and changed into a pair of his old shorts and a t-shirt. Something about that was profoundly comforting and soothing. It was like I could almost feel him again.

I know Daryl is up above keeping an eye on everyone down here and reminding them to cherish every moment of every day. This was evident during Switzer's eulogy Saturday where he praised Daryl and his family for the impact they've had on others. He shared a story about a dinner he had recently with a man that told him the Hunt's had influenced his life greatly. Right there at the dinner table, Barry called Elayne (Daryl's mom) and then Daryl himself so that the guy could thank them. As the story came to a close, Barry's cell phone rang as if on cue. He apologized to the congregation, looked at the LCD screen of his phone and told us, "That was Daryl calling. He just wanted to say 'Thank you!'"