You lived in the posters on our bedroom walls, on the covers of albums that we listened to over and over again, on our televisions in clear, beautiful color that made your already-sparkling smile somehow even brighter. In the midst of our tumultuous adolescences, these were the places that we could find you whenever we needed you to bring happiness and joy into our lives.
You had a family. People who saw you not as Davy Jones, but as "Dad" and "Husband," who witnessed you at your very best and your very worst. You had friends who can tell endless stories of your generous spirit, your mischievous sense of humor, and your several decades' worth of dedication to entertaining and charming audiences everywhere.
You had three brothers. Comrades-in-arms, as it were, who went through the machine with you, who shared together in your most exhilarating highs and lowest lows. Sometimes you fought, the way that brothers do, and harsh words--or even blows--were exchanged. But you were loyal to their musical mission in those heady '60s days, and stood up for them when it was needed most. They, in turn, never stopped seeing your magic, your boundless energy, and the way the spotlight always seemed to shine so naturally on you.
You were temperamental. Loud-mouthed. Fiery. Hilarious. Lovely. You sang and danced and worked so hard to bring light to those who loved you. And no matter how many years may pass, that light will never go out.
You were not perfect. But you didn't need to be for us to love you.
R.I.P. Davy Jones, 1945-2012
