Now you’re stoked, and go online to keep track of your song stats. Finally you do something crazy: spend a weekend at the same venue to see DMB twice in two nights. “What a waste of money,” your parents will tell you. They don’t get it either, but you do. Yes, you do.

Just a few nights ago, I was getting ready to see my final DMB show of the summer in Syracuse, NY. This show was general admission, and I (and several other hundred fans) had the intentions of being front row. The fact that I achieved my goal was not the point, I took away something much more than a few front row cell phone pictures from the show, something that will last after 11pm, something that makes me “get it.”

I’m friends with all types on DMB fans: fans that have been to 130+ shows, fans that love ‘I Did It’, and fans that have no interest in Before These Crowded Streets. They all have something in common: passion. This passion lasts long after the show, and creates friendships that last a lifetime.

When I arrived in the parking lot at Syracuse in the morning, the line to get in was long. People begun to form the line at 5am. Despite the gut wrenching heat, people had smiles all over. Food was being shared, cell phone numbers were being exchanged, stories were being told, and friendships were being made. Sure, many of us are “obsessed” with the band, but don’t ever let anyone tell you that being “obessed” with DMB is a bad thing, because it’s not, it’s a great, complex, and at times magical thing.

“Tell me why you’re here so early,” a news reporter asked someone in line. “To get front row,” a hot, sun burnt fan said. I’m sure viewers on TV chuckled, but once again, they don’t get it. Only we do.

The time to the show passed quickly. It felt like less of a “wait” and more of an experience. I’ve been to quite a few DMB tailgates, but not a day-long marathon like this one, alongside hundreds of my closest friends.

At any given time, there is no place I’d rather be than in a parking lot of a DMB show hours before the show. The people are friendly, and the memories made will last forever. I’ve made countless friends at these shows, and although we rarely see eachother outside of DMB shows, it’s as if we haven’t skipped a beat every time we meet up. We all have something in common, and this special bond will serve us all in life; it will open our eyes to be more open to other ideas and people.

Think about it, the fans you meet at the DMB show may be “obsessed” with the band, but they have a life too. A life that is likely much different than your own. If you were to cross paths with someone in a street, without knowing that they were a big DMB fan, you’d keep walking and go on with your business, but if that person were to be wearing a DMB summer tour 2004 shirt, you may stop to say hi, introduce yourself, and start a conversation.

But this is what the band wants, fan interaction. It’s why DMB is no longer on archive.org, there was no fan interaction on there, you simply clicked a link and had a show. Now you sometimes have to hunt it down and talk with other fans. Of course this may only be on the internet, but as we all know, what happens on the internet can translate into a friendship in real life.

DMB is the door to friendship, and teaches us to be more open to all of those around us. As humans, we all must have at least something in common, and for us it’s DMB, but don’t be afraid to start a conversation with a complete stranger and see what you have in common with them, who knows, you may end up making a great friend.

Cherish what this band has done for you, and remember: it’s not where, but who you’re with that really matters.

The lights went down, and the band launched into Bartender. I openly wept for several minutes. I wept for Roi. I wept for being so close to a band who perserveres through so much. I wept for the sheer joy of the music. A nameless person came over and hugged me, whispering in my ear, “I know… I know…”

And with that, the concert continued, until several songs later, when someone on the stage motioned upwards towards the back of the lawn. I turned and saw “LEROI” spelled out in huge yellow glowsticks. Suddenly, a picture of Roi showed up on the screen and the crowd cheered unlike a cheer I’d ever heard. And without even a flash of a warning, it started raining glowsticks. I could see them tumble down the lawn, over the ledge, from the back of the seats all the way to the front of the stage. Yellow, green, blue, purple, tumbling, falling, seamlessly, as though rehearsed for days. The crowd chanted — “LeRoi, LeRoi, LeRoi” — over and over and over. More blue, green, and yellow. If you picked one up, you kept tossing it without a second thought. The pitch black night sky became all the colors of the rainbow and the chants echoed off the rock walls.

And in the middle of this stood seven men, mesmerized. Dave stood in the center, rocking back and forth, cuddling his guitar like a safety blanket. Rashawn slowly walked off the stage, tears in his eyes. Boyd’s always-present sunglasses were no match for his tears. Fonz, Jeff, Tim and Carter stood, all frozen to their spots on stage. The colors kept falling from the sky like Roi himself was throwing a glowstick party from heaven.

It felt like the celebration went on for an hour. After watching video replay via YouTube, I know now it was only five or six minutes. Without even a flinch to each other, the band launched into a beautiful rendition of #41, and Jeff played his sax solo harder than I have ever heard him play, as if he was trying to reach out to the farthest fan at the back of the lawn, or even to someone walking along the road outside the parking lot. It was a wordless tribute to a beloved man whom we all celebrated that night.

During #41, I saw grown men near me openly sob and embrace. Total strangers leaned on each other for support. The tears continued to flow from me, my husband, and those around us.

It wasn’t until the next night that Dave sung these words, but on Friday night, we all chose to celebrate, because we learned that life is short, but sweet for certain.

RIP LeRoi.