It was New Year's Day 2006, when I received the phone call that my friend, Darcy Corrigan, had passed away unexpectedly. After only twenty-eight years on this mortal coil, his shining light was extinguished, but not forgotten from the hearts of all who knew and loved him.
Darcy was a generous, funny, smart, no bullshit kind of guy and though I wasn't as close to him as some, having known this amazing fella, has influenced my life in more ways than I could even know. His generosity, alone, was more than I could fathom. One story sticks out particularly. It occurred just a little over a month before his passing. It was my birthday and there were lots of people taking me out for dinner followed by some drunken karaoke. A common practice for a few of us, at the time. Darcy was living and working out of town, at the time, so I never expected to see him show up for my little soiree, but he did. Despite working all that Saturday and having to open his store up the following Sunday morning, Darcy traveled the two-and-a-half-PLUS distance, following his shift, to pick me up from my house, take me to where everyone was meeting for supper, then on to the karaoke bar, doing in all with the often seen, rarely photographed smile on his face, as observed in the photograph above.
I think of Darcy everyday. I have a tattoo on my left forearm, as a memoriam to Darcy, of a lone woman in a red dress. "Why such an obscure tattoo?", you ask. On one of the many occasions that we had gone out for a rousing night of drink and song, a friend and I thought it'd be funny if we signed up our usually silent cohorts for a song. The first was "Funky Town" for the normally reserved Boyd, who performed to song stunningly. So good he was, in fact, that months later when another friend attempted the song, he got up to instruct them. For Darcy, however, we decided to tame things down for him and requested "Lady In Red" by Chris de Burgh. My friend and I were waiting to chuckle when he bombed, but there were nothing but the sweetest notes coming from his breath. So memorable was his performance, that every time I've heard that song on the radio, since, I am reminded of Darcy.
It was nine years ago, New Year's Day, when I answered the phone and received the heartbreaking news. I never cried at the death of my father in the same way that I did with Darcy's passing. Maybe it was because of how unexpected it was. At the funeral, I met Darcy's family for the first time. It was no wonder that Darcy grew into the incredible man that he was, surrounded by such a loving family as this. It was a time where it was beneficial to be a wallflower. To sit back and listen to all the amazing stories where Darcy was a main focal point. I got to see and live his life via some sort of magic in those couple of days and in the years since.
Every year, beginning in the summer of 2006, a mass conglomeration of family treks from the recesses of western Canada, migrating to Regina for a Saskatchewan Roughrider game, in what has come to be known as: The Darcy Corrigan Memorial Game Weekend. The numbers have dwindled some, from that initial game, but given how tough life has been getting for people, I can't blame them. I've fallen on tough financial times in the last five-plus years, but as tough as I see it, I think of how Darcy traveled all that distance to spend a few hours with me and friends on my birthday, only to race home again to open his store for the morning traffic. That kind of generosity, boggles my mind, to this day. I go to the Memorial Weekend, just for that reason. That and I love his family. More so than my own, in some instances, if I gotta be honest.
Darcy was a generous, funny, smart, no bullshit kind of guy and though I wasn't as close to him as some, having known this amazing fella, has influenced my life in more ways than I could even know. His generosity, alone, was more than I could fathom. One story sticks out particularly. It occurred just a little over a month before his passing. It was my birthday and there were lots of people taking me out for dinner followed by some drunken karaoke. A common practice for a few of us, at the time. Darcy was living and working out of town, at the time, so I never expected to see him show up for my little soiree, but he did. Despite working all that Saturday and having to open his store up the following Sunday morning, Darcy traveled the two-and-a-half-PLUS distance, following his shift, to pick me up from my house, take me to where everyone was meeting for supper, then on to the karaoke bar, doing in all with the often seen, rarely photographed smile on his face, as observed in the photograph above.
I think of Darcy everyday. I have a tattoo on my left forearm, as a memoriam to Darcy, of a lone woman in a red dress. "Why such an obscure tattoo?", you ask. On one of the many occasions that we had gone out for a rousing night of drink and song, a friend and I thought it'd be funny if we signed up our usually silent cohorts for a song. The first was "Funky Town" for the normally reserved Boyd, who performed to song stunningly. So good he was, in fact, that months later when another friend attempted the song, he got up to instruct them. For Darcy, however, we decided to tame things down for him and requested "Lady In Red" by Chris de Burgh. My friend and I were waiting to chuckle when he bombed, but there were nothing but the sweetest notes coming from his breath. So memorable was his performance, that every time I've heard that song on the radio, since, I am reminded of Darcy.
It was nine years ago, New Year's Day, when I answered the phone and received the heartbreaking news. I never cried at the death of my father in the same way that I did with Darcy's passing. Maybe it was because of how unexpected it was. At the funeral, I met Darcy's family for the first time. It was no wonder that Darcy grew into the incredible man that he was, surrounded by such a loving family as this. It was a time where it was beneficial to be a wallflower. To sit back and listen to all the amazing stories where Darcy was a main focal point. I got to see and live his life via some sort of magic in those couple of days and in the years since.
Every year, beginning in the summer of 2006, a mass conglomeration of family treks from the recesses of western Canada, migrating to Regina for a Saskatchewan Roughrider game, in what has come to be known as: The Darcy Corrigan Memorial Game Weekend. The numbers have dwindled some, from that initial game, but given how tough life has been getting for people, I can't blame them. I've fallen on tough financial times in the last five-plus years, but as tough as I see it, I think of how Darcy traveled all that distance to spend a few hours with me and friends on my birthday, only to race home again to open his store for the morning traffic. That kind of generosity, boggles my mind, to this day. I go to the Memorial Weekend, just for that reason. That and I love his family. More so than my own, in some instances, if I gotta be honest.
