Archie LaRoche was a man you couldn’t forget. He carried an energy that filled every room, a presence so full of life that even now, it lingers in the stories he told, the music he played, and the art he left behind. He was a man of many layers—a carpenter, a musician, an artist, a fisherman, a dreamer, and, above all, someone who lived unapologetically as himself. He was a big kid at heart, forever young in spirit, even at 65. Responsibility wasn’t always his strong suit, but loving people was. He had a way of making everyone feel like they belonged, like they mattered, like they had a story worth telling.

As a father, Archie wasn’t perfect, but he was always there in the ways that counted. He didn’t judge, didn’t lecture—he listened. He believed in taking pain and turning it into art, whether through the lyrics of a song, the lines of a sketch, or the craftsmanship of his carpentry. He never cut corners, not in his work and not in his relationships. He gave his all, whether he was laying carpet, playing a song, or simply making someone laugh. He was infectious—one conversation, one shared moment, and you’d remember him forever.

Archie lived hard, played hard, and loved even harder. He wasn’t without his demons, but they never defined him. What defined him was his passion, his artistry, and the way he saw the world—not in black and white, but in vivid colors, in rhythms, in stories that needed to be told. He is the reason I love music, the reason I see art in everything, the reason I wanted to create something bigger than myself. Chunky Possum exists because of that fire he sparked in me. Though I lost him too soon, his spirit is woven into everything I do. Archie LaRoche was one of a kind, and the world is a little less bright without him—but through his art and the legacy he left in me, his story is far from over.

At the bottom of this page is the last home video my dad ever sent me. It was recorded during the early days of COVID, right after one of our long phone calls. In it, he sings a little melody he made up on the spot, just trying to bring some comfort during a time when the world felt upside down. What moves me most is that the video was filmed in the very room where he passed away just two months later. I didn’t know then how much I’d come to hold onto those few minutes-but I do. It’s a piece of him I get to keep. A reminder that even in the chaos, he was always trying to make things feel okay. And somehow, he still does.

I love you, Dad.