I don’t have any words of my own yet… I’m sure they will come, they almost always do. But, until then, you can read what
Deb and
AR Neal had to say about the day. Deb it was a pleasure chatting with you again and meeting your amazing family. AR Neal, it was great to meet you “in the real” and I hope next time will be under better circumstances. Thank you both for being there today.
Also, in lieu of my own words, I’m sharing below something that was written by Rara and her sister, Lachmi, and spoken during the service:
He smelled of cigarettes and carried an attitude of knowing. He had a love for art; and his body was just one of many canvas that he decorated. He had a way of drawing and painting that reflected a raw soul that not everyone related to, but was special nonetheless. His love of Ska music was unparalleled. His love for authors like Vonnegut and Palahniuk reflected his cynical, philosophical syndrome.
He taught us how to swear like a pirate and how to conduct ourselves in a way that we would never have to apologize for; who would be the first one to shake his fist at the stupidity of human nature, and yet have the patience to hold the door open for a gaggle of old ladies. He was the boy who picked at boned meat, could eat cheese by the block, and never managed to use a napkin for its true intent. He was tremendously complicated, and one could only comprehend him by facing his contradictions. He was a Sinner, a Saint, a Hero, a Victim, a Father, a Student, a Teacher, a Brother, and some weird combination of everything else that you could imagine– corporate with joke-book humor, immensely tough yet vulnerable and loving. He would be the first one to tell you that he hated children; yet, could always be found at the children’s table or asking to baby sit. And we know without a doubt that Flash and Perdita never had a better father than Dave.
He thought nothing was impossible, but was often impossible himself; constantly citing literary scholars or some obscure sci-reference that only a true geek would fathom. He insisted on ferocious sense of morality and ethics that, if you were caught on the sharp end of his barbs, you most likely would not fully fathom his insult until days later; a casualty we’ve all endured. We learned not only our sense of what was right, but the importance of defending it…and even sometimes when we weren’t right, we learned to defend that too.
He was never one to let the world tell him who he was, or what he was. He was empowering and had reins of his life as he would always be quick with a theory or an invention that would solve whatever situation he thought was a problem. He wanted to sell cool phrase flashcards, misery cookies to give those in misery, and pity pillows to throw at those wallowing in self-pity. He was the one who sneaked our little sister out to teach her how to drive, who stayed up the entire night creating a Christmas wonderland for his nieces, who always knew that sometimes the right thing to say wasn’t always the right thing to do, and who had unwavering support whenever we needed it. He loved Radha so directly and so deeply that love became redefined for everyone that knew them. They were indispensable to each other, they thrived off each other’s attention, love, respect, a mutual unparalleled addiction to the arts.
Dave, Grayson Queen, or however you knew him—touched so many lives. He will be remembered as a loving husband, a quirky brother, a super hero, a very loving uncle, a blogger, a writer, an artist. Thank you for taking time to celebrate Dave. Thank you for the endless love being sent to my sister.
