Daniel Flemming Latta

Eulogy given by Daniel’s cousin, Krista Pierce

 

It’s obvious to me and to Daniel’s family by your presence here today and throughout this ordeal that Daniel touched many lives. He was a good son and grandson, a good brother, a good uncle and a good friend. He left us with many wonderful memories and for that I am ever grateful. He loved his family dearly. He loved his work, he loved his friends and he loved life.

I realized yesterday as I talked with my cousin Keith about what I might say today that there must be hundreds of Daniel stories out there. If you knew Daniel, then you know what I’m talking about – stories that start with “remember the time Daniel… and you fill in the blank. I have some of those stories. Like the time Daniel drove that Datsun around with a bucket for a seat. Or, remember the time he built a homemade race track around the house and sort of “skied” from the bumper of the car. Remember the time he built an impossible bike ramp and all the neighborhood kids gathered around and said “he won’t do it, he won’t jump it,” but, of course, he did it and all the kids called him Evil Kaneviel from then on. Or, remember the time he built a pulley and tied one end of the rope to his feet and the other to a truck and had Keith pull him up in the tree? I think he got that idea when I was about 7 years old and I had a broken arm and couldn’t climb our favorite tree. Daniel must have been about 9 and he got the idea that he would build a pulley to hoist me up in the tree but my Daddy told him he would do no such thing.

These stories, I believe are at the heart of why Daniel was loved by so many people and why he had such an impact on our lives.

 

Every once in a while, if you’re lucky, you feel the wind in your hair, the sun on your face or the earth between your toes and you just know – life is good.

I think that Daniel lived for those moments – when wordly things fell away and all that was left was that very moment – when the rush of being alive, of breathing, moving, laughing and loving – the essence of the human experience on this planet – were all that remained.

 

Daniel came into this world fighting for every breath. He was born too early, too small and against all odds – he lived. I believe that then, deep inside his soul – when the very heart of his being was still being knitted together as he grew day by day – a spirit began to take shape and that spirit would guide him through his life. That spirit was different from any other I’ve ever encountered. It was loving, generous, funny and slow to anger. But most of all, it was wild and free. Sometimes, as a child and then again as a teenager, I wished I could shed my inhibitions, my fears and be more like Daniel. What must it be like to seize each moment and make the most of it? I would not know. I’ve always been a planner. I weigh the risks, count the costs. But Daniel did nothing of the sort. He was the invincible boy who lived life at full tilt.

 

He taught me a lot – how to drive a go cart, how to throw a football, even how to make Jello shots (and take them). But the greatest lesson he leaves with us, I think, is that we only get one go around – one shot at living. Daniel really lived. I dare say he stole nearly 31 years from fate and made them his own – cramming the most into every day, every minute.

 

One of the most vivid memories I have as a child is of him riding his horse through the pasture – at full speed his wild, dirty blonde hair blowing in the wind.

That is how I would like to remember my cousin, whom I loved so dearly. And I’m sure that each of you has similar memories of Daniel. And, I know that every now and then, when I feel myself living in the moment – feeling the sun on my face, the wind in my hair and the earth between my toes, I’ll know that Daniel is looking down on me and smiling, content that he managed to teach us a thing or two while he was here.

 

I ask that you’ll do the same. It is the only way to honor him and the life he lived.