Thirty-five years ago, you and I punched a time-clock five days a week at Digital Equipment Company in Augusta, Maine. We were hardly more than boys back then. We even took a couple of college classes together at the University of Maine.
You were exceptionally bright, sunny, positive, and tenaciously committed to whatever goal you set. Without fear of contradiction, I can tell you that you have flitted in and out of my mind a thousand times since those days--days when you and I used to have some pretty significant conversations. Often, we talked about this life and life after death, even though at that time we believed life would go on forever. Those conversations led to a time when, in the place Sandy and I called home, you prayed to receive Christ. Me? I have never forgotten that. Truthfully, I worried that you may have.
But you didn't.
Our lives went in different directions for more than three decades. Then, a few months back we reconnected. You told me of your diagnosis of stage 4 cancer. Then, point by point, you went over that conversation we had and your decision to receive Christ so many years ago.
Now, you are in hospice care. Your dear wife Lynne and others lovingly surround you. Physically, I am not there, but trust me my friend, I have been drying tears all afternoon. Soon, you will pass through the shadowlands. Soon, you will find that Christ's promise of eternal life to those who believe is true.
Your Bride tells me that you are resting comfortably and encouraged me to find comfort in that. I'm trying, but I so wish we could have sat--face to face--and talked. One more time. I love you, Jed.