That is not my friend...

My friend Jason recently died. I should say our friend Jason. The hubby's and mine. We grew up with Jason and though we didn't know each other for many years--we always knew Jason. Neither of us remembers a day we didn't call Jason our friend.

Jason was 40. He'd been 40 a week when his accident occurred. He leaves behind two young boys and a grieving wife.

He was the most alive person I know. He pushed limits and gained physical abilities that many of us never will. Swimming, running, biking... He was Superman. He was strong and able and humble. He was good. He was kind. He loved his children fiercely and worked harder than anyone I know.  

As we walked through his viewing, I hugged his mother and wife, his brothers and dad... and then we arrived to him, in his casket. I looked at him and thought- That is not my friend.
He didn't look exactly right. He didn't really look like him to me. And I guess that's because my friend is no longer occupying that body. His spirit has left it, he is gone. And it was never more evident than looking at Jason's lifeless body.

The tribute to my friend was so beautiful. His brave wife stood and told their story and it was the sweetest thing you'd ever heard. Everyone spoke of Jason's love for life and his amazing abilities in the water and on land. Everyone mentioned how while participating in triathlons and marathons and iron mans how he would always be one of the first to cross the finish line. Always ahead of everyone else... and yet he always turned back and ran beside someone else, helping and encouraging them on to finish. And then at the end of the meeting our Bishop made a connection that I loved. He said something like- just like in any race, Jason's ahead of us all. He's crossed life's finish line and is waiting to help us along.

I loved that.
And it's true, he is alive and well and no doubt about it--busy on the other side.

We love you Jason. And we are all better people having known you.