David and I met in Bowling Green, Ohio, where we were both in graduate school. We first connected over our leftist views. Soon, other similarities emerged. For example, he was the only person I ever met who had seen one of my favorite movies, One Potato, Two Potato, a heart-breaking story about a child being taken away from a mixed-race couple, because they were a mixed-race couple. No one else I ever mentioned this movie to had even heard of it. And here was David, loving it the same way I did.
We were very well matched: intellectually, psychologically, emotionally. We could share anything and everything, have conversations at any level of abstraction. He was my perfect other.
Before I met David, my world felt a little wobbly, unmoored, not quite right. I did have goals, and projects, and life plans, of course. I was good at achieving them, too. But something was always missing; a center of some kind or an underlying significance; like everything I did or accomplished was sitting on top of an emptiness, sometimes even dread. Then, David appeared and my world steadied. That empty space filled with meaning. The dread disappeared. My days became…wonderful.
Some people saw David as a mentor. I thought of him as my equal. Neither one of us taught the other. We exchanged lessons. Or so I believed. Only now, looking back, I realize I was wrong. A Buddhist teacher once said: “Don’t teach. Embody!” The most important things I learned from David were not taught; they were embodied.
David’s favorite movie was The Conformist. One of the qualities of this movie that he particularly admired was its relentlessness. By this he meant that no shot was wasted. There were no artistically and intellectually lazy segments. Every shot counted; every frame was beautiful.
David lived his life this way. Relentlessly. Every moment had to be meaningful, beautiful, emotionally rewarding. Experienced fully. Being with David meant living a series of beautiful, meaningful, intense moments.
He fought the illness steadily, bravely, without complaint. Looking for beauty and meaning in whatever he was still able to do. Toward the end, confined to his bed, his headphones plugged into his phone, he spent his time listening to classical music. It was never just, “Play me some music!” He wanted to hear particular composers. I would read the names off of the YouTube menu: Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev Mozart, Bach, Haydn. He would pick one and I would play it for him. He would then relax, close his eyes, and enjoy the moment.
Farewell, my love.
David Barr: Celebration of Life 