If my memory were better

I met Josh on my first day at Hollywood Lights in Portland. I remember the stacks of Mountain Dew boxes in his office. Looking over the boxes in awe, I said, "You must love drinking fresh-brewed black tea." Josh laughed. I'll never forget the way his laugh sounded; it was happiness within happiness.

Josh was a wonderful friend. There are things I look back on knowing for certain that I'll never do them again, and there are others I hope to do frequently. An example of the former: as a thank-you for the dozens of times Josh provided me with a place to sleep in Portland (so far), I made Steak Au Poivre, hand-cut, and all the trimmings-- complete with a nice bottle of red wine-- all bought with rebates from a "Kenny van" filled to capacity with empty Mountain Dew cans. Nickels have never been tastier. An example of the latter: one of Josh's favorite places we went was Mount Rainier. We drove the entire road from north to south in one day. Whenever I think of Rainier, I think of my friend.

We talked often about the "Big Bloom", a period of time in May when the wildflowers at Hurricane Ridge on the Olympic Peninsula are particularly ablaze. When we hiked to the top of Hurricane Hill, Josh laughed heartily, took a drag from his inhaler, and ate a bagel-- the smile never left his face.

I last saw Josh in Portland last summer. I was in Portland for a TV show, and I called Josh to see what he was up to. The crew for our show had all moved away, so Josh helped out with the shoot and spent some time on camera as well. I introduced him to my daughter, who predictably took to him. Since we were covering the Brewfest, we had quite a few tokens to go around. Josh and I used them all. I am glad to remember the last day we had together was a full day running through the park and joking with one another.

That brings me to his acting. I don't think I've ever regarded another actor's talent so highly. Josh was the definition of inviting gravitas on stage.

The wound left by his departure is deep and profound for both me and my wife. I still have the urge to call him and tell him how sorry I am that this happened to him; so much so that I have forced myself to erase his name from my address book. I look at pictures from Christmas, and I realize that he was already gone when they were taken. It casts a pall on everything I have done since December, and adds an even greater pain to being so far away from every person I care about the most.

My only hope is that I can find a fraction of Josh's emotional grace to help me when all this denial goes away. I miss Josh. I miss the conversations. I miss his company in Seattle. I miss his home in Portland. I miss the magic card marathons that were bathed in cigarette smoke and whiskey where he would talk ominously about Mark's "Black Deck". I miss the impromptu trips up the gorge. More than anything, I miss his presence in my life; I'd be severely tasked to ever find a better man as long as I live.