I missed my friend’s funeral.

The service was three blocks away. It was a lovely spring day. I could have walked.

Two phrases kept replaying in my mind:

“He was younger than me.”

And,

“Let the dead bury the dead.”

I sat there frozen. Unable to move. Unable to cry.

What the hell is happening to me right now?

Am I afraid of dying young?

Possibly.

Should I go see a therapist?

Probably.

Is this intense energy I’m feeling real … or is it the two honeybuns I choked down in a trance-like state?

Yes.

By the time I looked at my watch, the funeral was nearly over.

I decided in that moment how I would honor my friend and the friends I’ve lost:

I will choose to continue to pour love into others. Today, and tomorrow, if it comes.

Repeating this on the regular feels like the kind of peace that’s suppose to pass all understanding. I think Doug Turner would agree.

Thank you for all those little drinks of love, Dougie Fresh. All the miles on the trail together. The road trips. Most of all, the laughs. I can still see and hear you laughing. Please tell me you’re playing dunk ball with T-Dub like we did when we were kids. Love and miss you, DT.