For Ryan Tarby

August 5, 1993  -  April 16, 2025

(The below was written in 2025. Hard to find new words to write and wanted to share stories again to keep your memory close)

My chest hurts. I hadn’t talked to you in years...almost four... can’t believe that’s true. I never thought we were out of touch, just… waiting to pick back up where we left off. Like we always could. I was about to message you on Tax Day - some Danny Brown lyrics, “income tax swag,” just to get the convo going again. And now I’m just sitting with this.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the moments that made you who you were - the ones I was lucky enough to be there for. When people say, “He was so great,” or “He was so funny,” I just wanted to write down some of the memories that made me feel that firsthand.

Gun Club

One of my strongest memories is at the gun club - you had one shotgun in each arm and shot two clays out of the sky. I was in awe. Confident. Skilled. Proud. Still the only person I’ve shot with. You’d send a photo with a giant fish and write, “Look at this specimen.” It cracked me up every time.

Dr. Ron Darby Activities

I’ll miss all your sounds - from Yerrrrrr to duck calls. We talked in voices a lot. Your cowboy voice was my favorite and one I still mimic. Pew pew pew. You were always practicing that quick finger for paintball too. Competitive.

You showed me Catan. We’d play for hours. If I heard your maniacal laugh - I knew I had already lost the game before it was over - “You really thought that strategy was gonna beat me?” We took our Catan games seriously. You need Ore. Always need Ore.

Snow days at The Pit were an awesome experience you let me tag along for. I invited you to Joe’s in EHT

The Pit on Snow Day

for the first time - We were playing manhunt and the cops showed up. Instead of explaining we were playing, we all ran like idiots. You didn’t know the lay of the land, so you ducked into the woods and hid for over an hour. Total chaos. When we reconvened, you were calm, said something like, “That was nothing. I need to lay still for hours hunting all the time.” It was badass.

Bonfire at Jones' House

You were always at the bonfires at Jones’s…“crew team only” or not, you were there. I think back to you laughing, driving around - with Greenman in your car, or sitting in your garage - listening to Granese’s “shih tzu” monologue. You were that guy - you brought a lot of these different people together. Growing up, I didn’t live as close as others to be around all the time. Sometimes that made me lucky enough to sleep over while others went home.

Granese, Walls, Jones, Piratzky, Malia, Fitz, Ungaro, Gary, Matt Reg, Wescoat, Bill Smith and many many others much closer than I was but I still felt it too… You were like home base. Part of so many stories. The one who made everyone feel like they were your best friend.

The greetings were loud “Doctor Tarby!” “Doctor Smith!” Walls always had the best delivery. We’d follow it with a handshake, a nod, and a mutual: “Doctor.” “Doctor.” Like an SNL skit that existed only for us. When you visited me at Drexel with the La Salle crew, we’d order pizzas literally too big to fit through the door. We’d have to tilt them diagonally, hoping the cheese didn’t slide off. “It’s not rocket appliance”. We probably watched too much Trailer Park Boys. Our playlists would’ve consisted of CCR, Wu-Tang, ASAP Rocky, Beatles. The Snoop Dogg and Danny Brown concerts were unforgettable. Outrageous Fun.

 As I reflect, I’ll always carry a little of you with me. You had a way of making your quirkiest qualities your strongest ones. You were goofy and loud and full of energy but grounded, sincere, and real. You never tried to be cool. You were cool. That showed me how to lean into who I really was. You helped teach us how to live like doctors. We said it all the time “like doctors!” All Events. Eating. Drinking. Boating. Fishing. Shooting. Joking Around. Just Sitting Around. Turning life into a vacation. You made that feel possible, even if just for a moment before getting called home by a parent or studying for the next test.

 I just want to say thank you to the Tarbys. For letting me be a little part of it. Thank you, Ryan. For showing me how to live fully. How to laugh hard. How to care deeply—about your family, your friends, your hobbies. How to be somebody without trying to be anyone else. I’ll miss you, man. Love You. I know you’re still around—in the songs I hear, when I’m enjoying nature, when I make others smile just like you.