If today was my last day on Earth, I’d want to leave behind more than just memories—I’d want to leave behind a feeling. A feeling that I lived honestly, that I loved hard, and that I never stopped trying. I’d want the people I touched—whether for a moment or a lifetime—to know that I appreciated them. That they mattered. That their existence, their laughter, their flaws, their genius, and even their pain helped shape me.

I’m thankful—deeply, truly thankful—for this life I was given. I didn’t always know what to do with it. I didn’t always play the cards right. But I played them with heart. Whether I was down to my last dollar, praying in a jail cell, making music in a hot-ass room, or offering someone food when I barely had any myself—I tried to do what I thought was right in that moment. And most of the time, that meant helping someone else before I helped myself.

To my family: I love y’all more than I probably ever said out loud. You were my foundation and sometimes my storm, but you were always mine. If I didn’t say thank you enough, I’m saying it now—with everything I got left in me. You helped me become the man I am, and even when I felt lost, your existence gave me roots.

To my friends—especially those who became family: thank you for seeing me. The real me. The flawed, complicated, brilliant, stubborn me. Thank you for sharing time, music, laughter, heartbreaks, and healing. You made my life rich. Even in silence, your presence meant everything. I hope I gave you half of what you gave me.

To the people I worked with, the young artists, the teens who sat in my studio and opened up when they didn’t have to: thank you. You gave me purpose. You reminded me of who I was, and who I was here to be. Every beat, every lyric, every late night session was a testimony to the belief that all of us are worthy of being heard. I saw the broken parts in you because I had them too. But I also saw your light. And I pray you never stop chasing it.

To those I hurt, disappointed, or failed to show up for—I’m sorry. I never claimed to be perfect. I just tried to learn, to do better, to grow. I hope you found healing, even if it wasn’t through me.

And to God—thank you for every second. For not giving up on me when I gave up on myself. For sitting with me in jail cells, in empty rooms, in moments of confusion, when I questioned whether I was even worth saving. Thank you for my trials. They made me slow down. They made me listen. They brought me to you. I ain’t scared of what’s next, because I believe in your mercy, your love, and your promise that this life ain’t the end.

I didn’t leave behind riches. I didn’t build an empire. But I left something real. I left truth. I left love. I left music. I left me—in every song, every conversation, every prayer, every laugh, every silent ride home where someone felt understood just because I was there.

So if today is truly my last day, don’t mourn me too long. Play something soulful. Help somebody who needs it. Laugh from your stomach. Hug tighter. Be honest about how you feel. Chase your dreams, even if you’re broke or broken. And when you pray—really pray—know that I’ll be listening from somewhere just beyond the sky.

Thank you for being part of my story. I was never meant to be here forever. But I promise—I was here for real.

Love always,

Dario W. Baker

May 19, 1980 – (whenever God decides it’s time)