Every now and then people come into our lives, leaving a footprint so large, it feels bigger than our whole self. I admit those relationships are rare. I will also admit not all of those footprints are positive. I know far too many people whose lives have been forever altered because of someone whose impact has been violently abusive – physically, emotionally, or spiritually. However, I digress. I have zero desire to discuss the negative footprints left on my back or upon my heart.
I am 46 years old, and over the course of my journey I have come into contact with only four or five people I have totally and fully trusted with every aspect of my life. Considering the thousands of people I have known and encountered, those percentages are pretty small. Of that small group, only one is a part of my journey today. The rest are gone – either deceased or having the trust I placed in them and relationship itself broken seemingly beyond repair.
I met Dave back when we were both teenagers growing up in Georgia, attending church camp together in what must be the hottest damn place on earth (Gordon, Ga.). At the time, I am guessing neither of us suspected our lives would have been so intertwined later in life. Our time in grad school overlapped, and while the congregations we served were separated by geography, we stayed in constant contact and conversation over the last seven to eight years of his life.
Dave died on June 27th of 2016.
He died by suicide.
I spoke at his funeral; one of several granted that honor. For those last several years, I considered Dave to be my best friend – my “go to” in issues of life and work and of course, the Atlanta Falcons.
Every game day Dave and I would begin our pregame ritual of texting trash talk about the opponent. We both hated the Cowboys (dating back to the 1978 season). We referred to the Saints as “the Taints.” Not surprisingly, that was the nicest of names we had for our opponents. Our dream was to somehow find a way – either by podcast or perhaps selling our souls – to do play-by-play and color commentary of a Falcons game. It would have to be on cable; it would be the most inappropriate thing you have ever heard.
This has been an anxious week and fall for me.
On Sunday, the Falcons play the Packers in the NFC Championship. I want a win.
Honestly, after the last 7 months, I think karma owes me a win. All week – as has been the case all season – I have wanting to pick up the phone and text my friend. To talk trash about Aaron Rodgers. To make awful and offensive jokes and comments about the people of Wisconsin. I have wanted to do that all season – every Sunday or Monday or Thursday or Saturday – whenever the game was scheduled. I wanted to talk about sweeping the Taints and the … the … well, the Panthers.
I am anxious because I want my team to win. I am anxious because I miss my friend terribly, and I wish he were here to share this with me.
On a deeper level, this is not about football.
This is about friendship.
What a rare and precious thing true friendship is. This is also about love. I think love – in its most beautiful and purest form is even more rare.
“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has a greater love than this, to lay down ones life” for those they love.
Of those four or five I mentioned earlier, there has been a time (and still is for one), when I have been willing to lay down all that is precious and sacred in life for the sake of the other. I say that, but then again, I have never had to face it. Never have I had to make the decision.
Social media has allowed – if not forced – us to redefine the meaning of “friend.” Today, it could mean someone you see everyday; it could mean someone you have not seen since high school; it can now even mean the person separated by 6 degrees of relationship and have never met. Most often, our friends are those who share our interests and even our core values. While those are often the foundation for friendship, they are not required.
I consider many people who have differing values than I to be friends of mine. Often there is disagreement, debate, and even argument – but there is always respect. There is respect because there is friendship. Because there is love.
It is now 24 hours until kickoff between the Falcons that those #$@%*&$ cheeseheads from up North. I miss my friend and I wish like hell he had been here for the season for us to share. I miss the banter. I miss the inappropriate comments. I miss the celebrations in victory and the agony found within defeat. I hope they win. I hope our defense does unimaginable, biblically based things to the opposing quarterback, that until a few years ago, were illegal in the state of Georgia.
I want them to win. I want them to win for my late father – who was once my best friend – the one who first introduced me to the game of football, my love for the Falcons, and instilled in me the behaviors I exhibit while watching a game.
I want them to win for my children – each who has had to grow up dealing with a father who loves football greatly and when asked if he loves football more than them, has been met with prolonged silence.
I want them to win for me. I want them to win for my late friend, who was one of those few I would trust with anything and everything in my life, and who trusted me equally. I want them to win #ForDave.
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