That would make you, my dad, my uncle, my brother and Bob Long, Jr. the only men I’ll probably ever say those words to.

Now you’ll never hear those words again.

Yesterday, Monday, you went and had a heart attack that you didn’t survive.

I can’t even begin to tell you how pissed off I am.

We were supposed to go fishing this weekend.

You couldn’t wait till next Monday, could you.

I can already hear your infectious laugh, that one that comes from your gut and I already know you’re response…

“Well now, ain’t that a bitch.”

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I imagine you yesterday, suddenly popping up in heaven, standing in front of your good friend Jesus.

You stand there a few seconds, blink a few times and say…

“What the hell man?”

Then you both stand there looking at each other, blink a few times and burst out laughing.

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This sucks Dave.

I have my memories of you.

Some photos.

I’ll be downloading The Book of Dave in order to have your words, the words we spoke to each other so often, the words I rely on as the inspiration I need at times.

I’ll always have those.

I know your voice.

I’ll read them in your voice.

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Now don’t forget, when you’re hanging around up there with Jesus, looking down, laughing and making fun of me…

Make sure you lean over now and then and let him know that yes, I’m a little rough around the edges, I’m a little more blunt than most can handle, but I mean well.

And try not to laugh too much when you say that.

_____________

I’ll see you some day.

We’ll go fishing.

You can bring you’re buddy Jesus along.

I hear he knows a thing or two about fishing.

It’ll be fun.

Till then…