Two Years Later - To David

It's difficult to define the meaning of life or measure one's impact on it. Frankly, my words will always fall short of capturing such large concepts. Two years ago today, I received a phone call that David Santucci had been murdered in downtown Memphis after being out with friends and walking on South Main to his car. I'm still unable to fathom the horror of the acts that took place, and it becomes even more difficult when I consider all the violence that has continued since his passing  - like this thing that we just have to accept about life. We talk about it with one word violence as though it doesn't have a multitude of methods and motives. We debate situations where violence is warranted with others believing it is never the answer. It coexists with us in this world and in this city. While it can never be eradicated or will never disappear, it can be minimized and combatted.

Most of my posts about David's passing are about our city of Memphis and how it is still a wonderful place to live. Two years later, I still believe that it is. If you try to run from violence, you'll just discover that it also exists in random nooks of the country like Aurora, Colorado or Chattanooga, TN.  I've done enough tributes to Memphis. I want to write something for David, and it is about humor and humility. We all go through things in life - Lord knows I have - Diabetes, miscarriage, divorce... some we choose and some just happen. One trait I always appreciated about David is his ability to make light of things. When other people would be stressed out, he would be calm or make a joke to lighten the mood. I don't think you can put a value on that type of commitment to positive thinking. At times, it seemed like he had an outright refusal to let stress creep in, instead being in the moment with his friends seemed to be sufficient. He talked to me about Diabetes, you know. Since becoming a nurse, he had learned a lot about it and also approached me with curiosity about how I was doing. When it was about something serious, he struck the appropriate tone. But he made me feel like he cared about the disease, not just mine. He wanted to spread knowledge about how people should eat and exercise - two things that seemed to come effortlessly to David so I can think of no better ambassador. He didn't come across like he knew everything about everything, but that he wanted to help.

The best way David helped me was by being an example. He practiced what he preached. He didn't sit on the couch and talk about how he should eat better and exercise. He made a discipline out of it. He  did not sit around and complain about studying, but he would walk out of the room of friends, shut his door and study for hours with us nearby. He didn't only talk about shrugging off the small stuff. He really did not make mountains of mole hills. David had such a healthy perspective on stress management just in how he lived and the attitude he took toward things. So, today, I am going to try to employ a little "Tucci" in my attitude and turn my words into actions.  I am going to refuse to take things too seriously when they shouldn't occupy my stress. Whether you are planning a wedding, going through divorce, having a baby, switching jobs, moving cities, or battling a disease, we could all benefit from showing more appreciation for the fact that we are here on Earth at all. It makes the little things fade away. We lost such a ball of energy and life when David left, but I like to think his memory is strong enough to remind us all to laugh when it doesn't seem possible, help others when it might not be convenient and enjoy this life even when gets hard. If one guy managed to outlive this tragedy, it's David through his continued inspiration to family, friends and a city that he loved.

Be at Peace, friend. The way you always were.