He Was the Drummer

It is said that some walk to the beat of a different drummer.

David Bailey didn’t. He was the drummer, and the cadence of integrity, dependability, friendship and joy that he kept is one that I and my family will always treasure.

Cancer is a nasty, horrible disease. It took my friend’s life in seven short months. What David had thought was a gall bladder issue was diagnosed as stage IV pancreatic cancer. While the Baileys and my own family all do our best to live by faith, we knew his diagnosis came with discouraging odds.

But David decided to fight. Why? Because he loved his wife. He loved his kids. He loved his church. He loved his Lord, and he was not about to run the good race without a fight.

I am so grateful that I skipped an x-ray appointment about a month ago after running into him at the hospital. He had just had a paracentesis procedure, treating a symptom of the aggressive enemy inside his body. We talked. He asked about my kids. I asked about his. I told him I loved him, and I did.

Let me tell you about David.

He was an incredibly talented musician. Most people took it for granted that he would be behind the drum cage on any given Sunday, keeping the beat for our worship services. What many didn’t know is that he had once kept the beat in Nashville, drumming for the greats. We were honored and blessed to have him.

He was an incredible, unwavering dad. I watched him navigate some difficult days, but he soldiered on with love. There were disagreements, but David didn’t make accommodations to his beliefs or give his approval for the sake of not making his kids mad at him. He knew and understood that fathers aren’t on earth to be best friends and yes men. They’re there to guide with uncompromising faith. And the results speak for themselves.

Hannah chased her dreams and is a zookeeper in Memphis. She’s the only zookeeper I’ve ever known. While my Facebook and Instagram is filled with dogs and cats, hers is filled with gorillas and lemurs. I think she just may have the coolest job on the planet. Dustin and his dad had their rough spots, but man, talk about a fierce love. Those two have it.

He was a fantastic husband. He worked hard for his family. He and Tracy were seldom apart. If there had been a way for her to sit beside him in the drum cage at church, he would have made it happen. (Although, I really don’t think Tracy would have been up for that.) In our small group, Tracy was the one who could talk to anybody. David was the quiet voice in the background with a perspective that was always earnest, personal and sincere.

When I heard that he had died, my heart sank, and I don’t mean that in the way that people say those words when they find out their favorite steak isn’t on the menu. I mean, I felt my heart drop a centimeter or two. The voice, the smile, the cymbals and the drum beat that have been in my life for two decades will be missed.

I treasured our friendship for many reasons, but one reason stands out in particular. David seemed to understand my depression better than most of my church friends. He didn’t tell me to snap out of it or pull myself up from my bootstraps. He just told me he cared. That support without trying to fix me was music.

When I told my kids that David had died, they were devastated. Autumn and Dustin grew up together. My son played music with David and now is living his own Nashville dream. I think Ethan said it best when I told him the sad news:

“David was one of the real ones. He was a good person because he wanted to be, not because he had to be. He did life right."