I have put this off, because I was afraid it would be true if I wrote it. A week ago, I went to your home and the next day you were gone. 25 years.  Nearly half my life and a quarter of yours, we were friends. Despite our different backgrounds we became brothers, close friends, kinfolk. 

18 years my senior. A generation. A nothingness and a forever. 

This week I rode my motorcycle on one of the trips we used to ride together on. In remembrance. To see, if I would see you. A little celebration of your life. 

How often I left seeing you these past few years, with tears in my eyes, because I saw the struggle from who you were to what you were faced with, in terms of physical health. The times you asked me to pray. Wanting the restoration of your health.

Many would have described you as a “man’s man”.  In so many areas you were. Even just a few years ago you came to help at my home, to get it back in place after the destruction. (My thoughts were a “man’s man” that was “hard” on the outside, but marshmallow on the inside.  You were so kindhearted. ) How many times I saw you jump in to help others. 

A man who cared deeply for the underdog, the down trodden, who wept openly over the pain of others. Jesus would have been a “man’s man” and He was in good company with you. You wore your heart on your sleeve.  

I remember the first time I met you. We were at Lake George. A couple’s advance. They had a men’s morning devotion in a stone building. You were the speaker. You presented a message, that was simple, loving and touched my heart. It was on taking care of others. In 15 minutes of your sharing, I knew we would be connected. We met after breakfast, by the horseshoe pits and agreed to get together when we returned home. 

I was a new church leader. I knew little about many things. You offered to be part of the journey. 

I would like to say I followed up immediately, but I had my own things going on. But there came a point where we connected. God, motorcycles, business, family. 

And the early morning phone calls between us. 7 AM seemed to be our best time, and there were times it seemed like we were on the phone Monday through Friday. 

I wanted to get this writing out in one “fell” swoop, but like the process of grief often is, I am overcome with emotion and pain. I remember you and I had a conversation one time, about life when it didn’t “hurt” to go through difficult times. We laughed as we remembered the pain of loss. You shared about your folks, the Marines and more. We ended up crying. 

Because there is so much to say and to honor you, this is but a “part 1”. 

To those reading, I will be placing a part 2 in the next couple of days.